The Quest for the Silmaril
by evenstar8705
Summary: The complete story of Beren and Luthien. A tale of tragic and bittersweet romance, betrayal, unrequited love, and hope. They prove that their love can overcome race, the perils of Heaven, Middle-Earth, Hell, and even death.
1. Chapter 1 Of Luthien

One

Lúthien The Fair

In the dawn of the First Age, there was a multitude of nations of a noble race of people dwelling upon the earth. Before the Second-Born, which was Mankind, a certain king's power dominated the lands of Middle-Earth, in the lost continent of Beleriand. Elwë was the original name of this powerful king, chosen from amongst his people to be one of the three leaders of his newly awakened race, whom Men would later name the Elves, though they named themselves the Eldar. Elwë and the other leaders' priority was to lead their people from Cuivienen to Valinor, in the hope that they would be protected and would no longer be pursued by Morgoth the Fallen Vala. This proved to be a false hope.

Elwë accepted his responsibility with stoic courage and dignity. The other leaders were Ingwë and Finwë. Ingwë's people were dubbed the Vanyar, for they completed the trek to Valinor and had little part in the struggles of Middle-Earth. Finwë was leader of the infamous Noldor. Elwë's was the Teleri and the largest assemblage. In fact, his flock was double the number of the Noldor and Vanyar divisions combined, and so he shared the leadership with his brother Olwë, dividing their numbers into two tribes, but their group was still so large that it was later divided yet again and again. Few of them ever reached Valinor, but contentedly ruled Beleriand instead.

The young Elwë was following behind the Noldor. The great number of his people was not such an advantage. Their going was sluggish, and the leader himself dawdled when they reached the forests. The forest was so beautiful. There was no presence of the taint of Morgoth. There was only the wind in the trees, the bubbling of the river, and the singing of countless birds.

"Those waters," he muttered under his breath. "I have never seen waters so clear."

"It would be wise not to drink it," his brother Olwë said. "I would not trust any water no matter how clean it looks. We do not know this land and Oromë warned us to be wary."

He and his brother Olwë were very much alike. They both had silvery hair, not iron gray. Their eyes were keen and silvery as well. They had high cheekbones, and a cleft in their chins. However, Olwë was more slender. He was tall, but no one could surpass Elwë's height. He towered over his brother at nine feet. He often joked with his brother that his size had intimidated everyone else and that was the reason why they chose him to lead. He was stronger and gave commands and took action while his brother was more prudent.

"Regardless of wisdom, our people will need as much water as they can get," Elwë pointed out. "Look, I will be the first to drink and if anything happens to me, you can take my place easy enough."

Before Olwë could stop him, he drank. The waters had a strange taste, but not an unpleasant one. An equal feeling washed over him. His head became clearer, and he became more aware of the birds in the trees, but he could not hear his brother's words. His lips were moving, but all he heard was a beautiful voice. It was the voice of a maiden, and yet he seemed to be the only one that heard it. Were the waters enchanted with some evil spell? He fled into the woods after the voice, losing his brother and wits.

The voice led him to the hill of Nan Elmoth, covered in flowers and surrounded by beech trees. The stars seemed to illuminate the clearing until it shone like a lamp. Here a slender figure stood clothed in black. She turned, and eyes that were nothing human or elfish met his. Her hair was black as her robes, her expression serene. Her face was oval shaped, eyes and nose narrow, and her lips red.

She was whistling to her birds, the nightingales, and after a glance paid no heed to him. It was her voice that he had heard. He had no idea who or what she was, but he was drawn to her as were her birds. She was so beautiful and he was so very young. She smiled at him as he stepped forward, but before he could reach out to touch her, she laughed and cast a cloak over his eyes. She must have cast some enchantment upon him, for he became suddenly drowsy and fell into a deep sleep.

Elwë vanished for a time. Years passed as he slept, dreaming of the maiden with the dark hair. When he awoke he was alone, or seemed to be alone. His brother Olwë had searched and searched, but he was nowhere to be found. He led a fraction of their people to Valinor. It was his solemn duty in his brother's place, but the stanch and the great majority remained waiting for Elwë to appear again. And when he woke, he heard her voice. She was there to greet him. He reached out to her, imploring to know her name.

"Begone to the Blessed Lands, Elf," she spoke, her voice was so soft and low it was almost a whisper. "This is my realm and has been so for all time. My father granted it to me and you do not belong here."

"Such a fair realm," Elwë replied. "Does it have a name?"

"Doriath."

"And do you have a name?"

"My name is Melian, and I know you, Thingol."

"My name is Elwë."

The corners of her mouth lifted in a small smile, "Your cloak is gray as your eyes. I thought it a fitting name, for the name means gray cloak."

"Who gave you this realm? You spoke of a father."

"I have the same father as you, for he is father to us all."

"Are you a Valier?"

"I am naught but an escaped fay from the gardens of Lórien. Now you should be returning to your people to continue your journey."

"I would stay with you."

She did not smile at that, "My realm is not as safe as the Blessed Lands. All of Middle-Earth, including my Doriath, is vulnerable to Morgoth. He is my Enemy, and the Eldar need not fight the Great Battles."

"You fight him alone?" Elwë was astonished.

"As alone as any Child of Ilúvatar can be."

"Let me be your fighting companion!" Elwë could not bear the thought of this fair maiden, Valier, whatever she was, fighting Morgoth alone.

"That is courageous of you, Elf."

And so Elwë returned to his people soon after, an enigmatic maiden accompanying him. He told them her name was Melian, a Maia. The Maiar were the children of the Valar, though she never revealed her parentage. She had departed from the gardens of Lórien and wandered the earth, and the people were curious about her. For a time she taught them many things about the land, gave advice and counsel. Her most diligent pupil was Elwë himself. In time, she became fond of the young Elf-King. Soon Thingol took her as his divine bride and queen. He was no longer Elwë, but Elu Thingol. He had a vision of a strong nation of Eldar, and Melian had counseled him to make a foundation that might withstand the might of their enemies, if only for a while. She warned that Morgoth had not forgotten them. So the Sindar and the kingdom of Doriath were born.

Thingol ruled the forest land of Doriath, reared from caverns underground called the Thousand Caves or the city of Menegroth. Doriath, the 'Land of the Fence,' was one of the great Three Hidden Kingdoms and the home of Thingol's people, the Sindar. It was the first of these kingdoms and well protected with a grand army of bowmen and scouts, and it remained well hidden by the forest in its earliest days. The city of Menegroth itself was hand-carved in rock deep where the river of Esgalduin flowed and fell upon the high rocks and cliffs of that region.

Thingol hired and established friendship with the race of the Naugrim of Belegost, which Men call Dwarves, to create the Thousand Caves, for the Naugrim could build or make almost anything out of rock and stone, and they were a sturdy and hard-working folk despite their gruff appearance. They were fast in friendship and quick to anger, but they delighted in nothing more than stone and metals and aided in the building. The solidarity of the Eldar and the Naugrim was astonishing.

Menegroth was a miracle of engineering.

This is the account of how Menegroth looked in the days of its glory. Before a great, rocky hill, there was hewn a bridge of stone over the river Esgalduin, and there it led to the gates that led inside the rock to passages and halls and mansions of hand carved stonework, made to resemble a stone forest, and it breathed and grew like a forest, for the rock was polished and tended to very carefully over the years. There were fountains and lamps of crystal. Flowers of span style="font-style:italic;"elanor /spanand span style="font-style:italic;"niphredil /spanstretched their way along the cave walls in sheets. The pillars of Menegroth were hewn into the likeness of beeches, stock, bough and leaf. There were basins of marble in which water from Esgalduin was channeled and flowed freely, and floors of many-colored stones. Carved figures of beasts and birds ran upon the walls or peered through the leaves of flowers and buds. There was wrought out the visions of Melian, images of the wonder and beauty of Valinor. There were hung afterward paintings made by the Queen herself, and in them, a little of the future was revealed. The Thousand Caves was indeed the fairest dwelling of any king that has ever been East of the Sea.

However, even in the dawn of time and amongst the Eldar themselves, there was strife. There was mistrust between the Noldor and Sindar. The Noldor, the wayward branch of the Eldar, grew restless in Valinor and returned to Middle-Earth, forsaking heaven and was from that day forward in exile. A certain number among them had also committed unforgivable crimes, carrying the wrath of the Valar and a curse to the rest of their kin. Many ages had passed during the Noldor's absence in Valinor, time enough for the Sindar's kingdom in Doriath to grow and swell, and all Teleri and lesser races among the Eldar acknowledged Thingol as their supreme lord. Their customs and cultures were different, even their language had become something wholly different so that few spoke the original tongue of Quenya. The Noldor was less numerous, but they were in many ways the equal of the Sindar. Their Royal House was divided between half-brothers. Morgoth had murdered Finwë but he had three children. The eldest was Fëanor, and the other sons were children from a second marriage. Fëanor and his seven sons wished nothing more than to usurp the throne from the other descendants of Finwë.

Meanwhile, Morgoth was searching for the Eldar, seeking the heirs of Finwë and Thingol alike. Finrod soon followed Thingol in suit and hired that same Naugrim and delved the underground mansions of Nargothrond once Menegroth was built. The Eldar survived for many ages in their secret kingdoms, but they were divided amongst themselves, and the Enemy was growing ever stronger. And, a new threat was upon the horizon, a threat that was long overlooked. That new danger was the Second Born, the Children of Man.

His hand was over glen and glade, for Elu Thingol possessed most of the lands of Beleriand. His people were numerous and prosperous. The Great Enemy had vanished from Middle-Earth and a Long Peace had begun. He wielded might and glories uncounted, and wealth untold; but Thingol wanted to have many sons that would become mighty lords in his kingdom. This was the time to have children. Soon the queen was with child, and Thingol was overjoyed. They were upon the hill of Esgalduin, walking under the stars, as they loved to do in the summer, when the queen saw the first signs of labor. Her handmaids had been waiting for this moment for a long while. An Elf-maiden carried her child for a full year. They lay the queen upon a bier. Thingol was led away and sat upon the grass and bowed his head to his knees.

When the child was born at last under the gleam of twilight, flowers sprang into bloom to greet the new arrival. And wherever Thingol's child went, flowers grew there in great numbers. The child was given into Thingol's arms, and the infant raised little hands to touch his face. The child was a she, but he no longer cared. She was far too beautiful to reject.

But Melian could no longer bear children. She knew so after the birth of their daughter. She wondered that they had a child at all and such a child! The baby had the eyes of her mother and taken much of her spirit. Another child might well kill Melian. She told Thingol she was sorry that she could never bear the son that he had so desperately desired. Their daughter was to be their only offspring, and Thingol rued it bitterly at first. He had wished to have many sons. Therefore, he treasured his only child and did all he could to safeguard her and keep her content.

As she grew in body, her beauty grew tenfold. Some said that when she reached maidenhood, she would be the fairest of the world. Thingol had no doubt it would be so. She was indeed the most beautiful of all Men and Elves. The like of her will not be found upon this earth again. As the stars of heaven mirrored in eternity, as the voice of clear waters, such was her loveliness and grace. Her beauty was divine, her voice unlike anything ever heard upon the face of the earth, and she was also a subtle dancer. No other names have been set before hers for her skill in song and dance, and she beguiled all hearts with the intense gaze of her eyes. That is why she was named Lúthien, which means 'the enchantress'.

The rumor of her beauty spread quickly, but few outside of her kingdom had as yet laid eyes upon her, for her father kept her near the heart of the Thousand Caves always. He coveted his daughter and feared all harm. She was the only heir to the Sindarin throne, daughter to the most powerful king among the lands East of the Sea. And over the years, Thingol grew to love her fiercely. She had given him great happiness. He could scarce be parted from her side. He loved her more than anything upon Middle-Earth. Many believe this was his greatest flaw.

As an Elvin-child, Lúthien had been clever, charming and mischievous, a horrible mix. She was also very happy, for at the time she was born, Morgoth was within his third age of his imprisonment. The child also bore a gift from her mother. The blood of the Maiar was in her veins. She was the only Half-Maia in history. But she was a child, and she loved to laugh and play tricks upon her servants and make up silly games like all young children did, and she laughed often. But some of her tricks landed her into a little more than her share of trouble.

It was near noon when Princess Lúthien awoke, though no sunlight touched her bedchamber in the Caves of Menegroth. It was in the waning years of the Age of the Trees, and only stars kept vigil in the sky. It had grown especially dark the past few weeks. Some of the Sindar murmured with apprehension, but Lúthien had never known such fear. Any day she expected the light to return.

She rose from her bed of satin and feather pillows, rubbing sleep from her eyes, and rummaged through her clothes in her dresser made of handcrafted beech wood, white as snow. She would be turning fifty today, she was half grown by the standards of her people. Elf-children did not reach physical maturity until they reached their first century and even then they were not considered fully adult until they were about two hundred years old. Even so fifty years was something to be proud of. No doubt today would be more special than her previous birthdays.

She chose a single dress and looked at it in her silver mirror, made to match her own size. She was wondering if she could put it on without another's aid when the door opened and she was greeted by the grinning face of one of her many tutors and friends, Daeron. He wore a brown challis with a pattern of stags prancing about on it, brown leather leggings, and walked barefoot. The Sindar seldom wore shoes, for the floors of the Caves were polished smooth.

"What are you doing here?" she asked with incredulous surprise.

"His majesty has summoned you," Daeron answered, giving an over elaborate bow. "I suspect that he wishes to appease you with jewels or something like that, whatever it is a young princess receives on her birthday."

"Did my Lord Father tell you what my gift is?"

"How do you expect me to know such a thing? I am not yet one of your Lord Father's counselors."

"You think I cannot read the subtle hints on your face? You know I can read you like a book."

"Thanks to our lady the Queen," Daeron moaned.

"Aha! Then you do know! Tell me!"

"You will learn what it is soon enough, but not from me. Now come."

"Let me get dressed properly first. Call my span style="font-style:italic;"nanoe/span, please."

"Call her yourself! A princess is supposed to have manners you know."

"And a councilor of the High Court should be charming," Lúthien answered. "But I will call her anyway. You wait outside for me. A princess must be modest."

Laisie came before the child could open her mouth to call her. She had a knack for sensing when she was needed. She had been the Princess' nanny since she was a babe. She wore fine white linen dyed an emerald green to match the emerald in her eyes. Even the servants of Doriath could afford luxuries. She glanced at Daeron and shook her head.

"Who gave you the privilege of being in the Princess' bower, young man? I do not believe she is to receive lessons today. Get out of here and go read a book or something."

Daeron looked a little stunned that Laisie had spoken to him and was a little afraid at the unbridled force in her voice. He backed away and gave a clumsy bow. Then he slipped out through the door.

"Why did you scare him like that?" Lúthien scolded. "He only came here to wish me a happy birthday."

"Well, I wanted to be the first to do that, Lúthien. So, who was that boy and how on earth did he sneak his way in here? A sweetheart perhaps?"

Lúthien made a face. "Daeron and I are like brother and sister. As for how he got in here, Willow let him in!"

"I shall have to reprimand her later. Hm. Brother and sister. I see the resemblance. You both love music and wild tales. It is about time you arose, young lady. The King is very anxious."

"To give me my present, of course. Do you know what it is, Laisie? Will you tell me? Please? I could not sleep for the longest time last night because I was thinking of it. I finally did fall asleep a few hours ago, so that is why it seems that I have been asleep so long."

Laisie smiled and shook her head. Then Lúthien smiled, and she had a smile that made Elves and Men run into fences. Laisie finished lacing her dress and plaited her hair.

"Make me my usual crown," Lúthien whispered. "It shall please my Lord Father."

Laisie obeyed, tying together a coronet of flowers. She set the 'crown' of niphredil flowers upon the girl and she ran out the door, laughing, and her laughter was like bells and soft rain.

"Whatever you do, do not go climbing trees again!" Laisie called after her. "You frighten the King so when you do that. Do you remember the time you were very young? You climbed into one of those big oaks and could not find your way down? You wailed for nigh an hour!"

"What oak?" Lúthien did not want to dwell on embarrassing moments right now. "Come on, Daeron!" she said, taking his hand. "You shall be my escort. I am afraid I shall burst with excitement if we remain here much longer, and we must escape Laisie's jabbering!"

"I thought her talk quite interesting. How long were you in that tree?" Daeron pressed.

"Not long," she answered stiffly.

They began walking through the halls of Menegroth, which were splendid indeed, but Daeron's eyes were drawn only to Lúthien at his side, for she was the most beautiful thing of all that walked in the Caves. She was only half-grown, and yet she had the air of a queen. She wore a dress of the softest, bluest silk with gold pins in her plaited hair. Blue was her favorite color, and she seldom strayed from it. Her crown of white flowers made her look even more fresh and young. She seemed to be the source of the light in all the Caves.

"That is a very pretty dress, Lúthien," he commented.

"It was an early present from Mablung and Beleg. And yes, it is pretty. They brought me all sorts of beautiful dresses from foreign parts. They would laugh if they heard me say that. The Laquendi are not so far away, they told me. I asked them if they would take me beyond the borders to see them, for they are our allies."

"Did the captains agree?"

"No. My Father would not allow it, even though it would have been a wonderful present indeed. I have never set foot beyond the Caves themselves."

Suddenly Lúthien let out a shrill cry. Her father swept her into his arms, and her mother stood by his side. They had been lying in wait for her in the shadows. She laughed a child's laugh.

"Ada, I will get you back for that!" she threatened playfully.

Her father was dressed splendidly, as usual. He sported scarlet silks inlaid with gold and many rings upon his fingers. Her mother wore a plainer garb, a gown of gray wool trimmed with white. She wore no jewels, but her hair was covered with a net of silver.

"Happy birthday," Melian said.

"Thank you, Mother."

To her surprise, Melian stooped down and embraced her and kissed her on the cheek. Her mother did not often like to be touched, and Lúthien wondered if it was because of what she was. After all, her mother was a Maia. Although she adored her father and certainly could give and receive affection much more from him, because Lúthien was Half-Maia, there was a bond between her and her mother that the King had no part of and could never understand.

"Come now with me," Thingol said. "We have a gift for you."

Lúthien clapped her hands together with glee and followed after her father. Melian watched them as they went and chuckled. Laisie stepped beside the queen.

"Do you think the little lass will be all right?" she asked.

Melian bowed her head and answered solemnly, "Now that Morgoth's imprisonment is at an end and no doubt is loose upon the world, the Long Peace will soon end. But my knowledge is limited in this kingdom. Nothing is certain and it would be better if Lúthien spent some time with her father."

"Is it safe to go riding into the woods? Does Thingol not know of the Darkening?"

"Whatever happens, Thingol will protect her, I am certain of that."

"Aye, my lady. Perhaps it is not my place to gossip so to his queen, but I believe Thingol is a little too protective of her. Lúthien often complains of this, though never to anyone but me."

"I know, but the strong feeling that Thingol has for her cannot be amended."

"I suppose all fathers are so. They can be gentle as lambs and as fierce as lions. I know I was so with my children, when they were still young. Ah, I know that you know this, my queen, but they grow so swiftly! Yet Thingol's flaw may be dangerous to Lúthien in the future."

"Your foreboding is near the mark, Laisie," Melian said. "I foresee the same, but it may avail to the inevitable. I know this only too well, but in despite, I wish it were not so. Lúthien is my daughter too, and I may become desperate to cling to her."

The King led his precious daughter from the Caves and stopped her suddenly. An impish smile played upon her lips. He covered her eyes with a piece of cloth. Then he led her by the hand. She clung to him, though she trusted him not to let her wander off into a pit or allow her to stumble over roots and loose stones. She loved surprises, but she could not bear this. At last, her father halted her. He kneeled so that he was at eye-level with his daughter, for he was a giant, even for one of the Eldar. He was the tallest child of Ilúvatar, and Lúthien was still a child yet! She would grow to be at least six feet. That was about the average height among her people, and her father and mother were exceptionally tall.

"May I look now?" she asked abruptly.

"Not yet. Wait only a moment longer."

Lúthien grumbled and waited. She grew impatient and was about to pull away the mask over her eyes when Thingol removed her blindfold.

"Now, my beloved," Thingol said, beaming with pride. "Look!"

Then she did look, and she saw the most beautiful white horse standing before her. Lúthien gasped in astonishment. The horse was a fiery, lovely little thing that frolicked about like a princeling. His coat was white; his hair plaited in gold. Lúthien presented herself to the colt and gave a courteous bow to show him respect. Then she slowly reached out her hand to caress him. He suffered her touch and was charmed by it. Her eyes were filled with a gleam of light, and she smiled the most luminous smile that she could muster. The horse let out a muffled whinny, and she kissed his muzzle and cooed to him.

"This is your horse," her father told her, laughing at her surprise and obvious pleasure. "Your mother and I bred him especially for you. You are big enough now to handle him, I think."

At first, Lúthien was so overjoyed that she could not speak. "Ada, he is wonderful!" she cried at last. "Thank you! Thank you, Father!"

There were not many things that Lúthien did not already have, and Thingol had wished to give her something special. He had showered her with gifts on previous birthdays, always being satisfied by her laughs and her kisses. The fact that she may not need these gifts was not relevant. She did enjoy playing with dolls and other such things occasionally, and the game of chess was a game she played often, and she was quite the master when it came to it. Very few could match her skill, for she was clever.

Perhaps there was more to it than mere cleverness. The extent of her capabilities seemed limitless, and she had many powers, if you will; however one may define it. She had the natural gift to guess and learn from expression and twisted words as all the Eldar, but she, in chess, saw the first chess-piece lay down and knew exactly what her opponent's next move would be. It was uncanny. She had a knack for such puzzle games and for seeing what others might not.

A new chessboard was what Thingol had fashioned himself for her last birthday. It was a remarkable piece of work. The pieces were carved out of wood, but of silver beech, and the characters were shaped and painted with such skill that they seemed to breathe life on their own, and Lúthien was quite fond of this gift. She challenged her mother many times to the game, for the Queen and perhaps Daeron the prodigy alone could match her skill.

Thingol had decided upon a horse for her next gift. He was tired of losing, and Lúthien adored animals. She had a way with them, but the decision took great thought. A horse could crush her underfoot like a flower in an unpredictable accident. But once he decided to give her a horse, he knew it must be special. Stallions were very strong and aggressive, but mares were skittish. Finally, he had a young colt bred to be spirited, beautiful, swift, and graceful. Melian took a hand as well by giving the horse a life far beyond its span of years by breeding it from the first herd of horses named the Mearhas, which were unlike any other.

Lúthien kissed her father, and he lifted her up onto the horse's back.

"What shall you name him?"

"Iavas!"

"Why that name?" Thingol asked curiously.

"He chose it, not I."

"What else does he say?" Thingol glanced at the horse.

He could never tell if Lúthien was simply a child pretending to be able to speak to animals or if she really could do so. The Eldar could understand animals well but not directly communicate. Melian could communicate with birds. Did her daughter have that power with all animals?

"He says that there is another horse beside him, and he does not know who he is. He demands to know his name and his purpose."

"Well," Thingol said, "his name is Mithos, and he is my horse. And we shall both be riding with you to Neldoreth. I have long prepared for today, Lúthien. Notice that there are few guards with us? I called Mablung and Beleg back some ways behind us. You and I may spend the day together in the woods riding so that you may get to know Iavas."

"Really?"

"Yes, Lúthien. Even a king has his duty to his own daughter on such a day as this!"

Lúthien bowed her head, and her eyes were shining, "Yes. I suppose they do."

"Does Iavas mind if we come along?"

Lúthien looked Iavas in the eye and answered, "He says that as long as Mithos does not bite, he will enjoy the company."

Thingol glanced at Iavas and chuckled. "Do not worry. Mithos does not bite."

"So then why are we waiting?" Lúthien cried suddenly. "Race me, Ada!"

Lúthien clucked to Iavas, and he gave a great burst of speed. Thingol called after her and leaped full upon his own horse. Mithos reared and snorted, and then he sprinted after them. All horses enjoy a good race now and then, and Mithos was a powerful horse, but Lúthien's horse was fiery and lean. Maybe he should have given her a tamer mare! She had heard her father's cry, of course, and pretended not to hear. She was unaware of any danger and she thought it thrilling and also amusing to see the all-powerful king riding behind. Thingol caught up to her, his horse puffing and sweating.

"Perhaps we should wait until you are bigger for a horse?" he asked with indignation.

"No!" Lúthien cried in horror. "Iavas asked if I would keep him forever, and I promised that I would!"

Thingol laughed. His threat was merely a bluff. She checked Iavas to a walk and rode beside her father, and they spoke together. They paused to see the falls of roaring water, and she stood in awe of the rock-walls that jutted toward the heavens. It was not often that she ventured from the Caves, and not without a myriad of guards about her. Since birth servants and guards had always surrounded her. This was to be expected of an heiress, but her father often overindulged himself in her safety. He could be quite chaffing. Today, she knew that she was being given many gifts. She had a horse, her father's undivided attention, and the gift of privacy, so precious to those with high eminence.

"Can we climb the cliffs, Ada? Or one of the trees? The trees here must be taller than any on Middle-Earth! I want to shimmy up to the top and sing and perch like a bird among the green leaves!"

"You already sing like a bird, and you would ruin your new dress."

"What good are dresses compared to fun? Even birds do not know how to fly right away. Do they wonder about it when they are babies? Do they anxiously await the day their mother knocks them from the nest, or do they dread it? Do they doubt themselves? Do they really like flying? I should ask them. I wonder… Could mother make me wings? She is a friend to all birds, why can she not give me wings?"

"Wings would be unnatural, and besides, your mother cannot give you wings."

"Oh," she sounded disappointed. "If I could climb those trees, I might be able to fly!"

She flapped her arms and squawked, no longer caring about her dignity or royal composure since she was with her beloved father and no one else. She could afford to be silly and childish. She began to whistle like a bird with extraordinary mimicry. The birds in the trees mistook her for one of their own and whistled in response. Melian had made certain her daughter had the gift of taming birds and speaking their language as well as many other schools of knowledge.

The queen was her primary teacher. It was Thingol's responsibility to teach her king craft, or in Lúthien's case, queen craft. Her other instructors included Mablung and Beleg. They taught her to sit a horse, the terminology of battle, basic combat. The last subject Thingol kept very limited. Her nanny Laisie taught her to weave, to conduct her manners, and to keep herself and her space clean. Even Daeron was included in her entourage of teachers. He would tutor her in language and penmanship. Melian taught her of birds and beasts, of singing and dancing, and other things, things that only Maiar could know.

"Well, you must not try to fly! If you fall, your life shall be forfeit, and others besides."

"Ah, but you shall be there to catch me," she said playfully. "You would not let me fall would you?"

Thingol turned away, no longer laughing and his voice carried a sting. "Do not jest about such serious things. I know my life would end at least!"

They began to speak less after his harsh rebuff. Then she saw that there were narrower paths leading away from the main trail. As they rode onward Lúthien suddenly had the impulsive desire of a little child to startle her father for laughs and avenge herself for the scare he had given her earlier. Lúthien had pride, there was no question about that, and though she was a sweet and dutiful child, she could be very rebellious at times. She was seized with temptation, whispered to Iavas, and slipped off the path while Thingol was not watching. He soon realized she was gone and called for her. Lúthien kept going, hoping he was not angry.

But the harmless prank backfired. She found herself wandering away from the boundary with Iavas becoming uneasy. He sensed something. It was not something that belonged there; something vile. He was so perturbed that he could no longer find the path, and she was miserably lost. She tried to back track, quite hopelessly, and it was beginning to grow dark. The stars seemed to be eaten up by the shadows. The forest was filled with an ominous silence. The trees that she had wanted to climb suddenly seemed like menacing giants curtaining unspeakable terrors as their green boughs turned an ashen color with a trick of lighting. She became very afraid and called desperately for her father, and she knew that he was seeking her in anguish.

Iavas heard something and perked up his ears. Lúthien began to hear sounds at last, for her ears were keen. The clamor echoed through the still forest so that it sounded eerie. She fancied that she heard the faint resonance of numerous footsteps and the clink of metal. Then she was filled with hope. Perhaps a company of her people on the hunt caused the noises?

It was not unusual for the Sindar to be found so far from Doriath. The common folk could do whatever they pleased, it seemed to her sometimes. It might even be Mablung and Beleg. They would gladly escort her back to her father, though she dreaded what they might say. They knew her well, after all, and they would certainly be angry. She had just broken the statute: No child should pass the borders unless accompanied or given special permission by an adult. The penalty was a beating. The Elves forewarned the children early and often, and Lúthien did not want to be the first child punished for it and suddenly dreaded being found.

Iavas disagreed strongly that it was friends. She spoke soothing words and said at last, "Very well, Iavas. You go and find my Father!" She slipped down and the horse bolted. She hoped he would catch Thingol's scent and lead him to her. In the meantime, she stood quite still and listened to the sounds.

She did not know that the sounds were caused by a host of Orcs. They were terrible demons come from Angband and were exploring the foreign region. In her innocence, she made toward the sounds. There came loud noises and shouts, and Lúthien cowered against the bole of a tree. The voices were harsh; certainly no one she knew had such a voice. Then through the thicket of brambles and trees came strange and hideous creatures. They were small and stocky, and they wore a strange metal she had never before seen. Each one seemed uglier than the last, and they all appeared to be male. Lúthien was disgusted and fascinated all at once.

"Hi! Halt, ya filthy laggards! HALT!" cried a harsh voice.

There was a lot of grumbling, and then there was an attentive silence.

"Why are we stopping?"

"Such a stupid question! Because I said so, addle-brain!" answered the captain, a large Orc. He must have been twice the size of his comrades. "You should never question my authority, you treacherous rebels! Have you maggots forgotten everything that you learned during training? I will report you!"

"But to whom shall you report us to? The Elves?" sneered an Orc. "They shall gladly silence the lot of us! Even you."

"Stop your grinning, or I will pull that annoying ring out of your snotty nose!"

The captain drew his scimitar. The inferior hesitated and did not draw his sword. As soon as Lúthien saw steel drawn, she quietly climbed up onto the nearest branch. The captain sneered and caught the smaller Orc by his nose ring. He hissed at him.

"Small talk, no action, I say! You must not be too bold here. We are all in danger now. I am trying to save my own skin as well as yours, though you cringing maggots do not deserve saving."

He cast the Orc to the ground and would have given him a savage kick if the others had not stepped before him and began speaking.

"We are tired and afraid, captain," said one. "We must be allowed to rest."

"These lands belong to the Elves!" he shouted. "If you stay here because you feel tired and afraid, then you will die, not that it matters! We are to carry out our duty to the Master."

"And what of the Master?" said the sneering Orc, rising from the ground. "We had not heard from him in a long age. Then he suddenly appears, claiming that he escaped from the wrath of the usurpers, and he gives us commands! I was much happier when he was supposedly gone forever."

"Is that rebel talk I hear?" said the captain.

The Orcs were silent.

"That's what I thought! These lands are full of rebels, and the Witch Queen curses the land. We cannot end our march until we have left these places for good. If orders are not enough for you, the whip will have to do."

Lúthien had just heard these monsters call her mother a witch! She was so offended that a noise of rage came from her throat. One of the Orcs showed his fangs in a grimace and looked up and saw her sitting there above him, partly concealed but visible nonetheless.

"I spy a brat child!" he cried out.

Lúthien shuffled out of sight as quickly as she could but too late. The Orcs drew out their crude knives.

"Oh no," moaned the captain, rolling his eyes. "They have found themselves a pretty little victim! We shall be delayed for hours!"

Lúthien let out a shriek as the fanged one leaped from the ground and onto the branch that was more than a ten-foot height from the ground. She began climbing upwards. The Orc climbed after her like a spider.

"Where are you going?" they called. "Are you lost? We'll take you with us!"

"What are you?" she cried as she swept aside leaves.

"Tell us your name and we will tell you ours. Are you forgetting your courtly upbringing? We can tell by your rich array that you are no pauper's child."

"Leave me alone!"

"Come!" the Orc below her reached up with his claws, and Lúthien almost fell backwards at the glassy look of them. "Don't fall," he said grimly. "It would be a pity if you fell and broke your neck before we could have our fun."

The Orcs below laughed and said, "Let's play hide and seek! You seem fleet of foot and you are small. You wouldn't find it too difficult to hide. Though we are like hounds on the scent, you would be a challenge to catch! You might even have a chance to escape!"

Lúthien let her foot down on the Orc's fingers as he climbed so that he grimaced with pain and sucked at them.

"She-Devil! You little Elvin-witch! Let me get a hold of you-"

"ADA!"

At this, the Orc ceased his grinning and stopped his pursuit for a moment, for Lúthien's voice rang through the woods. She listened for an answer and there was none. The Orc advanced again. He had her and held Lúthien out over the branches. She swallowed hard as she stared at the ground that was so far below her. She was more than thirty feet in the air, and she begged and kicked her legs and thrashed her arms.

"No! No! Let me go! Put me down! Please!"

"Well . . ." he swung her back and forth into thin air. "If you insist."

"Don't! Don't put me down!" she cried, shielding her eyes from the horrible drop and clinging to the foul smelling and hairy Orc.

"You bruised my pinkie."

The Orc flashed an evil smile and then let her go. She squealed as she fell and reached out for branches, grasping onto nothing but air or tore at leaves. The Orcs that had waited below caught her. She squirmed free of their grasp and managed to gain several paces. She dove under their legs or dodged them from the side. It was as though she had wings as she had desired, and she laughed at them, for their anger was amusing. The Orc had underestimated her speed.

Once she had outrun them, she hid and leaned against a tree to catch her breath. She giggled to herself, thinking they had lost her. Then the chief Orc that had wandered off caught hold of her from behind. He was terrifying. He lifted her inches from his face and showed her his fangs, and he muffled her screams with a thick gray hand.

"Well done, but there shall be no more hide and seek, I am afraid," he said and called to the others.

Lúthien thrashed wildly at him, and he set her upon the ground. The Orcs made a little ring about her. They tossed her about, laughing peals of laughter. Never had they found a victim so small and helpless. It was like cornering a kitten. She covered her ears, unwilling to listen to them as they began saying horrible things.

"ADA!" she screamed again.

"Go on. Scream some more, little one. Your screams may give you some comfort," said their leader, stroking her face, the most grotesque of them all.

Lúthien recoiled at the touch, but he held her firmly in place.

"Yes, you are beautiful. I must agree to that. I wonder what use that lackey Necromancer could make of you. He might want to give you to the Master, perhaps?"

She did not recognize this Necromancer he spoke of, but she knew who their master must be. It was the same one that her father had told horrible tales of. Morgoth.

"What shall we do with her?"

"Let's torture her!" said an Orc eagerly. "Maybe she knows where others are or where we can find gold."

"We do not have the proper tools!" argued one.

"Bah!" he spat. "Tools are unnecessary if you know the art of torture that I wish to use."

"Give her a few moments to run and let us hunt her, then we can let you do what you please!"

"Hunting children is no sport!" argued another. "Give me a full-grown Elf and then we can hunt them down until they weep like a child! Children are too easily frightened!"

"Shall we roast her alive? I have eaten horseflesh, but there is something better, and this young one is sweet and tender. Feel her skin!"

"Spit her or roast her and I shall make worms' meat of you," growled the captain. "She is not food or entertainment. This one is for a worthier purpose."

Lúthien bit down into one of their hands, and there came a rush of blood, but it was not red blood, but black blood! She gasped, but with the drawing of their blood, she suddenly became defiant.

"Morgoth, did you say?" she spoke with bold and proud tongue. "Do you monsters not know the meaning of that name? Fëanor gave the Prince of Darkness that name which is Enemy of the World!"

The Orc captain answered, "You shall soon learn the truth, though it may be painful for you to learn it."

She screamed, "Aye Elbereth!"

At the name of Elbereth, the Orcs fell silent and backed away, and their eyes burned with silent rage. Then they drew closer. Lúthien began to name all the Valar, and the leader clamped his monstrous hand over her mouth.

"Any more of that and we shall feed you to the fires of hell! Understood?"

Suddenly, there came the whinny of a horse, and Iavas sprang from the trees and charged at the Orcs. Lúthien knew her father could not be far off, and she grinned. The Orcs saw the horse and hesitated.

"This means she's not alone!" the captain murmured.

"Whatever you do, do it quickly!"

"My Father," she began.

"Yes? Yes? What of your father?" they pressed. "Is he here?"

Where was her father? Where was her protector?

"Father?" she called, not realizing her risk, for Orcs killed their captives rather than allow them to escape or to be rescued. "I am here! Help me, Ada!"

One of the Orcs drew his dagger and pressed it to her throat. She let out a shriek. Then the leader snatched the dagger from him and tossed it away, striking the inferior.

"No, curse you!" he hissed. "Do you know what an alarm we would raise if they found a dead child?"

Suddenly, one of the Orcs dropped dead with a dart in his throat. The others were too startled to react right away, and so Daeron sprang through the trees and cut another down from his horse and trampled a third. The survivors fled, leaving Lúthien behind and shaken.

"Daeron!" she sprang up and caught herself around his neck.

"Are you hurt?"

"No."

"What the hell were those creatures?" Daeron said. "And what are you doing here all by yourself? Do you realize you could have been killed?"

"Please do not tell anyone! Especially not my father!" she said hysterically. "Just take me back to Menegroth!"

"But those things almost-"

"Promise me! Promise me!"

He hesitated, and then said, "Very well. I will not tell him about your encounter. It will be our little secret. Let us go find him."

He mounted his horse and pulled Lúthien up beside him, and then they made towards Menegroth. Thingol came upon them before they finished their journey. He embraced his daughter and smothered her with kisses. Lúthien could no longer hold back her tears. She clung to her father, but she did not speak, and Daeron said nothing of the Orcs. She exhausted herself with tears and fell asleep. Thingol carried her home in his arms, wretched. So glad was he to have found her that he stayed any harsh words and the beating for another moment.

When they returned to the Caves, Mablung and Beleg told him that they had found a large band of evil creatures passing through Neldoreth and that something must be done about them, for they were spreading terror and mischief throughout the lands. They even had several bodies they had brought with them as evidence. Looking upon the monsters, Thingol was frightened at the thought that his young daughter had been separated from him and had been at greater risk of captivity or death than they had known. Still, Daeron was silent.

Sooner or later, the beating must come. Lúthien had broken the statute out of plain disobedience. Her nanny gave her the stick and told her to find her father. She was trembling and weeping so much so that Thingol was worried.

"It is all right," he said soothingly. "It is all right."

But Lúthien wept harder than ever. She had never realized how big and strong her father was. Thingol took the stick from her, looking very troubled and careworn. He had never expected to have to beat Lúthien, and try as he might, he did not have the heart to beat her. He told Lúthien to turn her back to him and raised the stick and broke it across his knee. Lúthien winced at the sound, expecting to feel immense pain, but the blow did not come. Thingol dropped the broken stick and raised her into his arms instead. Then he poured some cold water over a silk cloth and bathed her tear stained face.

"I was reckless, Ada. Please forgive me!" the repentance had only just begun.

Her father stroked her hair. "I forgive you, but it was partly my fault. We should not have been there with only Mablung and Beleg to guard us and so far behind that they lost us. And I was never so aware as I am now that even our realm cannot be safe from harm at all times. From now on, I shall see to it that you are under greater protection. No harm can possibly come to you here in the Caves."

"I will never cause you grief again, Ada. I promise!" the girl cried wildly.

Thingol's smile was bittersweet, "Do not make a promise so hastily, my child. All children cause their fathers some grief, but that is not all. You are my little treasure, Lúthien, and you always will be. Just promise me that you will try to be good. Oh. And pretend I punished you properly, will you? It would not do if the realm thought I was being too gentle with you."

Lúthien nodded. She left the room wiping tears from her face so that Laisie was satisfied, thinking she was still crying from the punishment. Lúthien pretended that she was unable to sit comfortably for a week so that her father could save face, and she thanked Daeron for what he had done for her as well, both saving her from the Orcs and keeping her secret.

Though Daeron was not a kinsman of the king, he was usually sought after for counsel on matters of lore, despite his youth. He was always forthright with Thingol, which was an attribute he admired, and he obeyed even the lesser rules of Doriath to the letter. It would be deemed dishonest should the king ever discover he was hiding such a secret from him. Lúthien never forgot it, and found she could trust him with other secrets. He became her constant companion. Her father found it strange at first, but as the relationship was harmless and he could find no flaw in Daeron, he benefited from the royal family's good graces ever after.

The King knew his daughter had returned safely home and had been unscathed, but he would not allow any evil to run amuck in Doriath. He summoned the council to the Great Hall. Mablung and Beleg brought in several Orc corpses for all to inspect as well as their gear.

"What exactly are these creatures, my lord?" Beleg asked. "They are in camps in the east between Celon and Gelion. We are cut off from Círdan because of them. Not only have they been felling trees, but they have also been coming upon either side of Menegroth and plundering our lands. They were more terrible than any wild beast I have encountered, and there were many."

"Aye," said the king of the Dwarves, Naglar. "The Valar has not rooted out all the evils of the North. These fell beasts dwell in the land east of the mountains too, and your ancient kindred that dwell there are flying from the plains to the hills. Also, there are wolves and creatures that walk in wolf shape."

"As you can see from their weapons and armor, they are not mindless beasts without skill," Mablung held a cruel helm in his hand. "Crude but effective. It is made of some strange metal."

"Give it here!" Naglar demanded, for Dwarves were the true masters of metal and stone. "I will melt it down in my forge and find its true properties. Whatever it is, it must come from some foreign land."

"Could you discover where?" asked a courtier.

The Dwarf King snorted, "I can bloody well try."

"We must know where they have come from and who is equipping them! Are they the Second-born of Ilúvatar? Or are they the Avari, the Eldar that refused the light?" Mablung posed the question they had all been wondering.

There was an uneasy silence. They had been warned of the coming of Men and did not know what to expect of the Second-born. The second prospect was also disturbing.

"Nay," Melian spoke, and she was held in high respect and wonder among the wise so that all were silent. "They are demons spawned in Morgoth's pits that have multiplied over the false peace. Morgoth did not create them with his own power. Only Ilúvatar has that power. They must be a blend and ruin of many creatures. Their origin may indeed be a mystery to us for all time, but it is certain that they shall cause nothing but hurt to this world."

"Is there no way to parley with them?" Celeborn, King Thingol's nephew asked. "What do we know of them? Are they not intelligent beings as we are, capable of peace?"

"We have attempted diplomacy," Mablung replied. "They are incapable of reason. Those we sent to negotiate were killed or taken. Where, we do not know."

"They must be driven from our borders," said Thingol.

"Yes, but how? There must be hundreds of them or even thousands of them!"

"War seems to be the only solution," Mablung answered.

There was a long silence. Many were shocked and afraid, for the Sindar had not needed weapons of war before. They had little store of these, for they had lived in peace for so long, for thousands of years.

"It seems we have no choice," Beleg said. "These things must be destroyed."

"Very well," Thingol sighed. "How long would it take to prepare arms?"

"With the aid of your friends the Dwarves," said Telchar, who was a dwarf, "we might delve armories for the cause."

"And my lord Denethor king of the Laquendi is willing to aid. The king is willing to fight in battle if indeed he must," said a stranger.

"I am the son of Lenwë," said the one beside the stranger. "I heard of your might and majesty and the peace of your realm. They say that the very air you breathe here is filled with laughter. I thought I should come here for aid. For this span style="font-style:italic;"Gaurhoth/span, as we call them, have filled us with fear, for we have no weapons of steel. Your friends the Dwarves speak the truth. I have brought with me a small host of my people, having led them over the mountains. We dwell in Ossiriand, though we are kin here and will aid you, Thingol, in all ways. Will you have my people as your allies?"

"Indeed, you are most welcome," said Thingol in delight. "You are of my kin and therefore I embrace you as brothers. You may dwell here in my halls in peace, son of Lenwë."

"As for your lack of arms," said Beleg, "That can be amended. The people of Doriath and the Dwarves shall set to work upon the fashioning of weapons as soon as you command it, lord."

"And who among you would oppose that command?"

"None, lord," answered the council as one.

In the time of the dimming of the Trees in Valinor, there was great disquiet. Thingol fought the Orcs on his borders, and there were rumors of Noldoli, exiled from Valinor, who sought their own lands to dominate in Middle-earth. It was a dark time, for no news came from Valinor, and there was an Enemy in the land again. Councils of war were held. The Dwarves and the Eldar then began their labor. New tunnels had to be delved in the Caves to make chambers for armories. The Elvin-smiths and the Dwarves worked through day and night, never ceasing their toil. They wrought metal like fish mail that shone like the moon upon water. Telchar made many axes, swords, shields, and helms. Elvin-smiths made some works even greater, and Thingol also had a collection of weapons that had come from Valinor itself. Soon, the armories were filled with a wealth of weapons.

The Eldar were skilled archers, swordsmen, and horsemen. An invincible cavalry was soon at hand, for the Sindar and Laquendi could understand their horses and their Elvin-archers could shoot down a sparrow from the air a league away while riding upon their horse. Blades were ready in their hilts, polished and natural to the hand. The Elves carried daggers in their shirts, though drawn blades in the hall were outlawed and the punishment for it was death. The White Bridge was checked, and all passages to Doriath were watched.

The day of battle came, and Thingol kissed Lúthien and rode with his host and the host of King Denethor to battle the Orcs of Morgoth. This was the first of the great battles of Beleriand. Melian and little Lúthien stood before the White Bridge to see the King off to battle, and the glory of the hosts as they marched past encouraged Lúthien so that she did not fear at all for her father.

The First Battle was the first of many wars that would ravage Beleriand. It was in this battle that the Sindar were forced to learn the ways of war quickly without the aid of any higher power. It was also their first taste of Morgoth's fingers and claws, his cursed race of Orcs and Wargs, creatures of wolf shape but were not the noble beasts the Eldar and the Dwarves knew. For many days the Sindar toiled, driving the Enemy back and being forced to retreat until a tragedy happened. They had driven the Orcs to their camps between the rivers and had slain many, but the Orcs had been more numerous than they had ever imagined.

"Aye Elbereth!" Thingol said. "The Orcs are well equipped for battle, and soon it shall be too dark for our archers. How many of your people have fallen, Denethor? Many of my people have been wounded, and the Orcs hack the bodies into the dust! Alas! The butchery has only just begun! They are fleeing into the woods, curse them!"

Denethor sprang with his host toward the woods to meet the Orcs. He would make them fight, for his blood boiled with wrath and his bones ached for revenge for his fallen.

"Denethor!" Thingol cried. "It could be a trap! There is another host of Orcs but my scouts are unable to find them! Let them flee!"

It was then that Thingol saw, out of the corner of his eye, a fresh host of Orcs charging into the woods from the side. This was the second host that his scouts had reported. They would be attacking Denethor on both sides. Thingol's host drew their swords and cried as one and galloped after him.

Denethor saw the Orcs, and the Orcs charged through so that he and a little band of his close kinsmen were separated from the main host. Many of the Green-Elves were outmatched. They had not the bright steel of Thingol's people. They had poor metal and the Orcs had iron. Many were slain. Denethor himself was surrounded upon the hill of Amon Ereb. He was knocked from his horse, and the Orcs formed a large ring about him that was becoming thinner and thinner. His kinsmen formed a protective ring about him, for they loved their king, but the Orcs cut them down, and their chief stepped forward, drawing his sword so that it rang. Denethor fought him sword to sword. He soon had the offense. His anger was great, and he stabbed the Orc, but the Orc's superior armor notched the blade, rendering it useless. Then he thrust his scimitar through the king.

Denethor let out a cry, and his voice echoed. His people heard his cry and were stricken. They froze in place, straining to be sure that it was their beloved king they heard. Then they despaired, and some cast their swords upon the ground and wept in grief.

Thingol came upon the rear, and he blew a horn that made the unhappy people spring to their feet. Thingol's host was with them. The sight of Thingol Gray-mantle, tallest child of Ilúvatar and also a Light Elf, was terrible to see. A light shone through him that blinded the Orcs and filled them with madness. Few returned to Angband to admit their defeat, though Thingol was too late to save Denethor.

He dismounted his horse, haggard and careworn. Denethor pulled out the scimitar, but he was mortally wounded. Thingol laid him upon a bier and began to bind his wounds. A third of his host was all that was left, and they gathered about him, weeping.

"This is my last command as your king!" he announced. "Those of you that grieve for me may return to Ossiriand. As for the rest of you that would listen to my last wish: Take Thingol Gray-mantle as your king."

The people of Denethor then either swore Thingol as their king upon the field and became Sindarin or returned to Ossiriand and remained the Laquendi. They never went to open war again, but ambushing Orcs was ever their greatest delight.

Though the Sindar had been victorious, they bought it with a great price, and Círdan's people were still hemmed away from them. The number of the Elvin-hosts had lessened to two thirds of what it had been, and that was indeed a grievous thing. Thingol withdrew his people within Neldoreth, and Melian, foreboding that evil would indeed find its way into Doriath again and destroy it, created the Girdle of Melian, an enchanted labyrinth veiled in fog, to keep out all evil. Then the years passed as happily as they had before, though the Sindar heeded time not and were more wary of danger.

Thingol did his best to shield his daughter from the horrors that befell during the war so that Lúthien did not notice a great change since the First Battle. She was closeted away. For many months she could not even leave her bower, and Thingol forbid the Sindar to speak openly of the slain or wounded. Ever afterward, she was not to leave the Caves without Mablung or Beleg, and they were often away on the outskirts of Doriath.

"Father, may I ride with Mablung and Beleg?" she asked one day.

Thingol burst out laughing and said grimly, "Have you asked them what sort of game they hunt, Lúthien? They hunt Orcs and Wargs."

"But, Father, the Girdle protects us and-"

"Danger wears many masks, my child," Thingol answered, and this became his favorite proverb though it became trite after many lectures. "There are perils in this world besides Morgoth, though of these perils you may know nothing."

Daeron found the girl moping by one of the fountains. She told him of her father's rejection, and his heart was sore for her. Then he got a bright idea. He had grown to be a clever Elf. He was writing a history of his people and had invented the Sindarin script.

"Do not cry. You do not need Mablung and Beleg. I shall be your escort!"

"You?" she laughed and wiped her tears away. "I mean no insult to you, but you are not the most ideal person as a one-man escort!"

"Then we shall sneak out."

Lúthien was aghast at this. Daeron never disobeyed a rule, let alone the command of his King, but he was willing to do so for Lúthien. They crept about the Caves giggling until they made their way to the stalls where their horses were waiting. Another child that cared for the horses was there and helped in the conspiracy. Then Lúthien stood with Daeron on the hill of Esgalduin. He began to play his pipe, and Lúthien began to sing and dance. The forest resounded in naught but their singing and their music. They repeated this routine much during the spring and summer and, occasionally, on warm autumn and winter nights, and they were never caught, though they made so much music and merrymaking that the whole forest of Esgalduin was alive with singing. The trees themselves waved their leaves about gracefully.

Eventually, Lúthien insisted that Daeron keep his musical talent a secret no longer. The enchantress herself have become spell bound by his skill. If he would become her personal minstrel and play for all the realm, she would sing and dance to his pipe. Reluctantly, he agreed. They became partners in music, performing concerts for the Sindar, much to the delight of the small folk. It was then that Lúthien was declared the greatest of singers and dancers, and Daeron was named the greatest of minstrels, even above Maglor in Nargothrond. He had already made a name for himself as a loremaster, but now his songs were sung throughout Beleriand.

But Daeron and Lúthien had also become ripe for courtship and were pursued relentlessly. It was only after Daeron took the stage that the maiden folk of Doriath realized that he was indeed handsome and began to call upon him. He was unsure how to react to the sudden attention. He kept to his books and avoided his suitors as best as he could. Lúthien, however, could not escape hers. Her duties as princess kept her always in the public eye so that she could not retreat as easily as her friend. She also noted that her audience focused upon the curves of her body rather than her movements when she danced. She put a stop to it, dancing only in private or with close friends and family and restricting her performances to vocals only and wished she could never show her face again. She was quite annoyed that her suitors were becoming a plague.

"If only there was a way to put a stop to it all," she complained to Daeron during one of their rehearsals. "I do not wish to break hearts. My father will not allow me to wed any of my suitors even if I wanted them. I have the voice of a Maia and the body of an Elf maid. Why was I born in between worlds? I am afraid sometimes that I am like my mother and am incapable of love. No. I was wrong to say that. She does love, but not like we do. What should I do?"

"I know how you feel in part," Daeron answered. "Ladies that never so much as looked at me in the past are hounding me. I cannot help but feel it is only because of my recent fame. I do not know who to trust."

"We both wish to avoid our suitors," Lúthien smiled. "Oh, and the court gossip is that you and I must be lovers. They insist that we must practice more than just music whenever we are together. You are one of the few people I trust. You are like an older brother to me and my partner in music."

That made Daeron laugh, and then he said, "Then there is our solution! If they accuse us of being lovers anyway, perhaps we should let them think so."

"What do you mean?"

"If our suitors see evidence for themselves that the two of us are lovers, that will stop them from pursuing us! No maiden would dare to compete with you, and it will dash the hopes of any lord or stable boy that pines for you."

"What kind of evidence?"

"All it should take is a few amorous glances, a brotherly kiss now and then, and the realm will be convinced! It shall be our finest act, Lúthien!"

"All pretend?"

"Of course!"

Lúthien grinned, "This could prove quite fun."

So the two played at being lovers. Whenever they were in the public eye, they held hands, whispered nonsense to each other, shared the same goblet at feasts, and danced. It was all innocent, but only they themselves knew it. It was their private joke, and they laughed as tongues began to wag and their suitors gave up hope for a while. For years they carried on the act and it became more elaborate. Half of Daeron's songs were inspired by Lúthien. She discovered her was a brilliant scholar, minstrel, and a great actor. He seemed to go out of his way to make their mock dates seem real. Before they had always been close friends. Now they seemed inseparable. They revealed their longings and secrets to each other. Almost all. Daeron began to crave more than just sisterly affection.

"Not everyone is convinced," he said. "You are still getting proposals. The small folk have ceased, but not the nobles. Simple flirtations are not enough."

"Perhaps we should stop," Lúthien suggested.

"You have never kissed any of your suitors. Neither have I. Not as lovers do. Perhaps we should practice that and kiss at the next concert. Then there will be no doubt in their minds. Only we will know better."

Lúthien hesitated. She knew that agreeing to his idea would up the stakes of their little game considerably. He seemed rather eager. But she reminded herself that Daeron was her friend. He could not feel the same for her as the other men of Doriath. She was also curious about how lovers kissed.

"Very well. A few kisses now and then should not hurt anyone," she said finally and gave him a quick peck on the lips.

"That was no proper kiss. It should be much longer. Lean into it, close your eyes..." he tried to explain.

They made several attempts. She began to blush and he began to laugh. Each time she leaned in to try a real kiss, she merely gave him a peck until he leaned to kiss her. He exerted gentle pressure and gave her a lover's kiss. Then they were both silent, struggling with mixed emotions.

"Do you think you can do that for the next concert?" he asked.

"I think so. I hope it truly does convince them."

And when the next concert came, they indeed exchanged a lingering kiss. Lúthien enjoyed the kiss itself, but she felt uneasy. Daeron's heart soared and hoped she enjoyed the kiss as much as he did.

Her father summoned her the very next day. He sat by the fire, deep in thought. Melian was across the room, tending her birds. The servants and even the guards had been sent away. Whatever her father had called her for, it was serious business. Lúthien sat beside him and kissed him, wishing as always that she could crawl into his lap as she had so often when she was little. She might have done it if her mother were not there. The queen's presence always motivated only the most dignified behavior in her daughter. She knew Thingol would never reproach her. No doubt he would welcome such tenderness but she always ached for her mother's approval. She bowed her head to her and Melian curtsied back. It was enough.

"Are you well, my little gem?" Thingol asked.

"Very well, Ada," she beamed.

"You have been keeping yourself busy, I presume? Any new suitors I should know of?"

She blushed, "None. You are the only true male in my life as always."

He smiled and squeezed her hand, pleased. Melian, it seemed, was not amused or convinced.

"What of Daeron?" she said.

"Oh, the minstrel," Thingol frowned.

"What?" Lúthien's smile faded. "You do not like Daeron?"

"He is a fine musician and quite the scholar, but young with no noble blood. Of course, blood is nothing in most cases. I must say that you deserve better."

"You think that I am in love with Daeron?"

"They say you are inseparable. It is difficult not to hear the court gossip or to deny what your mother and I have seen with our own eyes. Always slipping off to the woods alone... Promise me that you have not bonded with him."

"No!" Lúthien cried. "This is a terrible misunderstanding! It is a joke between the two of us!"

"A joke?" Melian's eyes flashed and her birds scattered. "I am afraid I have trouble understanding humor. Explain yourself!"

"We are close, but he is much more a brother to me than a lover. We have also heard the gossip and grew weary of denying the rumors since our words are ignored anyway. The people are far too interested in my doings. So we decided to play along and fuel the rumors with a little kindling. The small folk seem to love the idea and it stopped others from trying to court us. Neither of us are remotely interested in courtship. We play at being lovers as children do, that is all."

"Such play is dangerous!" Melian said with force in her voice. "You play with fire. You play with hearts and not only with Daeorn's! Stop this foolish game the moment you leave this room! I will not allow such careless behavior!"

Lúthien felt as though she had been slapped and called a harlot by her own mother. Thingol patted her hand and jumped to her defense.

"They are young, wife. They cannot possibly know what they do. Besides, our daughter is wise. This way she does not have to constantly reject every bachelor in Doriath. Soon, she will not need Daeron to play the part of lover anymore."

This was a surprise to Lúthien, "What do you mean?"

"I have been exchanging letters frequently with our ally, King Finrod. I inquired who he had named his heir. He replied that he had not yet named one and that he must give it much thought. I asked why he did not just make an heir of his own. He responded that there were few suitable maidens among his kin and so I suggested he look elsewhere. Then he asked after you."

"Me?"

"Yes. I suggested that he visit Doriath in order to see you for himself. He is making arrangements."

"Are you frightened?" Melian looked at her daughter, trying to read her.

"I do not know what to say," Lúthien answered.

"He is a king, darling, older than you but younger than I. He is quite handsome and has prowess as a warlord and a well loved and respected ruler. I could ask for no better match for my daughter."

"But why is he not married already if this is all true?"

"He loved a maiden of the Vanyar," Melian answered. "Before the Noldor fled Valinor, she refused to leave and broke her troth to the young prince."

"But he may have never stopped loving her. Father, if he were to marry me it would only be to provide him heirs and seal your alliance."

Thingol sighed, "He will not wed for procreation exclusively. That is why he wishes to court you properly first. You are free to refuse, but to do so outright would be an insult."

"When will he be here?"

"That he cannot say. It depends upon weather as well as the goings on in his own realm. Since you do not appear so eager, I shall tell him not to rush. You are full grown yet in some ways still a giddy child. Your nervousness shall pass. Who knows? Perhaps if he arrive you will love him instantly. You will at least accept a visit from him?" Thingol pressed.

"Aye. To refuse would be an insult, as you said," Lúthien said reluctantly.

"Good!" he kissed her. "I am proud of you! One day you will be as wise as your mother!"

She left the chamber and sought out Daeron. He gathered his pipe and music and led her to the woods as she had begged him to take her out of the city. He was so good that he did it without question. They crept through the 'Children's' tunnel and fled to the their usual place. He began to play, but when she tried to dance, she could not. Her heart was too heavy, it weighed her down. She tried to sing and her voice quavered and faltered. As much as she loved to listen to Daeron, her own thoughts drowned out his music. At last, she began to weep. She told Daeron all that had been said. he listened intently, his expression a perfect mask of horror and astonishment.

"The king wants you to wed a Noldoli?" he exclaimed. "But what of all his edicts forbidding them here and forbidding the use of Quenya?"

"He insists it would be a good match. But if I were to wed him, I would have to leave you and everyone else I love. I would have to leave Doriath. I often complain that Menegroth can be stifling, but it is these woods I will miss. They are a part of me, and so are the people. Perhaps my father feels I would be safer in Nargothrond somehow. Even with the security of the Girdle, he does not trust in my safety! It is all because I wandered off the day the Orcs came! And the way he talks, he would be crushed if I refused Finrod. He has his heart set on marry me to no less than a king, the only one he trusts. Would refusing Finrod hurt their alliance? I would not want to risk it. Why must I marry at all?"

Suddenly Daeron put his arms about her, "You will not have to court him or wed Finrod if you marry me on the morrow."

Despite everything, she laughed, "You can always cheer me, brother."

"I would do more than cheer you."

He kissed her, and it was not a brotherly kiss. It was even more passionate and insistent than their staged kiss. She was astonished and pulled away before he could continue.

"Daeron, what are you doing?" she demanded. "There is no one here, there is no reason for this."

"You do not understand. I love you!"

She had a sudden urge to flee. Only confusion and curiosity rooted her to the spot. She recognized the almost wild look in her friend's eyes, a look she had seen in the eyes of countless suitors but had never expected to see in his.

"How long have you felt this way?"

"How long?" he seemed uncertain. "Longer than I can remember. It began as the love of a pupil. You were my student in language, art, history, and music. But you fast became a maiden and an equal. My love grew into something else."

"So all of our play-"

"Innocent when it began, but I will not deny I took secret pleasure in it."

She was horrified, "My mother was right! I have done you a great evil allowing this. It stops now!"

"Lúthien-" he tried to grasp her in embrace again.

"No!" she dodged his advances. "This is wrong! I feel it in my bones!"

"Do not say that!"

"We must never speak of this again. This was a dream. A nightmare. Such a thing can never come to pass between us! Never!"

"But Lúthien-"

"I will tell my father!" she cried shrilly.

That stopped him. He feared Thingol and knew that the king would never approve. Moreover, Lúthien seemed resolved. She did not love him. In fact, she avoided all contact with him. She felt ashamed of their little game, especially her part. She should have known that the fairest of the world was doomed break hearts whether she willed it or not. Daeron was heartbroken. Music was his only solace for a while. It was only after he began to court other maidens that Lúthien renewed her friendship with him, which he welcomed.

Melian was not pleased, and warned her daughter, "Be wary of his feelings."

"He has assured me, he no longer has those feelings."

"Regardless, do not break his heart a second time."

Despite the peace of that realm, Middle-Earth was ever-changing and becoming more dangerous. Many ages passed and Morgoth grew in strength, and his land grew fat with slaves and monsters from the pit, and Queen Melian became anxious. The Second-Born appeared, and Thingol found sleep less easy than before.

In his dreams, he saw that he was upon the hill of Esgalduin, and his daughter was with him, dancing upon the hill. Then he saw, to his greatest horror, that a Man came to her. He spoke to Lúthien, and she took a hesitant step toward this Man, placing her hand in his. Then she vanished. This dream disturbed him greatly, and he spoke to no one of it, not even to Melian. Then King Finrod of the Noldor arrived in Doriath for a rare visit to his ally. He looked upon the king's daughter and agreed she was fair. He even brought her several gifts, which she graciously accepted. Nothing more passed between them.

Finrod told Thingol of the new race of Men that he had taken into his service. He had stumbled upon them many years ago.

But Thingol did not like this report, and he remembered his dreams and proclaimed, "Into Doriath shall no Man come while my realm lasts, not even those of the House of Bëor who serve Finrod the beloved."

Melian said nothing, but she said to Artanis, the sister of Finrod who would one day be called Galadriel, "Now the world runs on swiftly to great tidings. And one of Men, even of Bëor's house, shall indeed come, and the Girdle shall not restrain him, for doom greater than my power shall send him. The songs that shall spring from that coming shall endure when all Middle-Earth is changed."

Once Finrod was gone, Thingol called his daughter to him and told her that there was a creature she must be aware of. Her father had told her of all the monsters that the Elves had knowledge of, and she was now an adult in Elf-standards. Orcs were no longer the most feared and hated, it was Men now. Thingol filled his daughter's head with tales of the worst examples and misdeeds of humans. They had no morality of their own save that which they had adopted. Few could be called true Elf-friends so the majority was worse than Orcs. They pillaged and ravaged to satisfy their greed, snatched maids and children, and though disease and old age destroyed them and their lives were short, their numbers increased at an unprecedented rate.

The Eldar were always relatively few in number. They were incredibly slow to age, immune to disease, and yet they were not quite immortal. There was still quite a long list of fatalities they suffered including childbirth. Elf women took great risk each time they birthed and could only have one or two if they were fortunate. There were exceptions, but the Eldar remained a dwindling if not stagnant race. Most saw an untimely death upon the point of a sword. After the First Battle many of the Eldar, dismayed by their first experience of death, were discouraged from having children at all, even though Doriath was far safer than its sister kingdoms. They felt it irresponsible and cruel to have children during turbulent times. When Eldar died, they were allowed the to be reincarnated within their family over time and so variety was very limited.

Humans were migrating into Beleriand in astonishing numbers with many languages, colors, and creeds. They adapted to disease and continued to increase their birth rate. They progressed rapidly as well and understood machines and contraptions rather than Nature. In all the time the Eldar were in Arda, they made few machines. They were suspicious of technology. They were more comfortable with their simple machines and metalwork. Machines were simply time-savers, and since the Elves were given the gift of time, they perfected that which they had always known. The Eldar had no use for weapons for ages until Morgoth used them upon them and all his wretched machines caused nothing but death and torment. Sindarin children were not even allowed to touch real weapons or receive serious training until they came of age. Men were much more comfortable with warfare. Sometimes the Sindar, almost entirely ignorant of human customs, fancied they were born with a sword in their hand.

"How will I know I have met a Man?" his daughter asked.

"If you look carefully," Thingol explained, "you shall see that their ears are not pointed, but round. If you spot a male of the race, they might have grown a beard. That is always a telltale sign, but some shave their beards off. They are usually broader and bulkier of build than we are. They run amuck in the sunlight, fearing the dark of night and curse the stars because they believe that they are gods that have rejected them. They curse us too and name us witches, or worse, fairies. Promise me you will run from a Man as soon as you see him, and you shall never look him in the eyes."

"I promise, Father."

Thingol was comforted, but his daughter had strange dreams of her own. They were dreams of the Sea, a dream that terrified her and gave her joy all at once. Many of the Eldar dreamed of the Sea because they were born with a longing to pass over the sea back to Valinor to answer the original call of the Valar. But what Lúthien dreamed was no sea longing. It was something else, for she did not pine for the Sea as other Elves once did. It so distressed her that she told Daeron, but also her mother, hoping Melian could guess the meaning of the dream.

Daeron had only been confused by the dream. Melian had been evasive and said, "You have the dream so often that it cannot be ordinary. The days of peace must come to an end. But your future sings of bliss. I pray that you shall find that joy. And yet, I seem to sense a cloud hanging over your sun. The penalty of love shall fall heavily upon your head."

Little did this comfort her daughter. Instead, it only overwhelmed her because she did not understand. Then she slept, and she dreamed.

She was standing on the shore of the Sea. She was staring at the stars. They were blazing with light, much brighter than they ever could be in waking life. Perhaps they had been that bright when Varda had first cast them out into the sky. She could taste the salt and hear the crying of the gulls. The Sea was sighing and stretching out across the white sand like white hands groping for the hills. Then the waves stirred suddenly, as if being startled awake from a deep and unwanted sleep. Soft foam touched her face.

There was a boy with raven-black hair sitting upon a few rocks, drawing circles with his fingers in the sand. Suddenly he rose and began walking toward her. As he drew nearer, the stars were suddenly engulfed by a vast darkness. It became black as pitch and utterly silent. The only sound was the Sea as the waves became more violent. The sound of the ridges rose to a great cry. Then the Man clasped hands with her, and at first, she was very alarmed. He sensed her fear and squeezed her hand reassuringly. He looked at her, and his eyes were gray and sad, but keen and bright

"Do not be afraid, Tinúviel," said the boy as the darkness swept over them.

Lúthien had no idea why he called her this, but the name seemed more natural to her than her own name. And she answered, "I am not afraid."


	2. Chapter 2 Of Beren

Emeldir, wife of Barahir and Lady of the Edain had many conflicting emotions when her son was born during the cold and desolate winter of 440 during the First Age of Middle-Earth. Dorthonion had seen far worse winters, but in the city of Ladros, the cold had taken its toll upon many infants. The land of Dorthonion was as close to the North and the Enemy as one could possibly get in the free and civilized world. The little kingdom of Men was founded upon a plateau with the dreaded mountains of Ered Gorgoroth to the South. These features offered some protection in times of war. Their House had been given the land to guard the realm, for beyond the sparsely forested realm of evergreens and marshy moors was nothing but vast wasteland until one came to the doorstep of Angband and the accursed Morgoth.

When King Finrod of the Noldor entrusted Barahir with Dorthonion, he had placed a great honor and heavy burden upon Man. But they were fiercely proud of their part in guarding Beleriand and grateful for a land to call their own.

Emeldir was relieved with the birth. Her first and foremost duty to her husband was complete. She had borne him a healthy male heir that would carry on the line of the Elder Men. She adored the tiny babe at her breast and loved him as much as her husband did. Barahir showered her with gifts, praised her for the life she had brought forth, and named the child Beren. But, she told herself, he would not be her little baby forever. The practiced tradition among the Edain was to have others foster their children. Usually, their uncles raised the boys. But, for a noble with blood as old and as high as Beren's, Barahir might decide to send him to the far off Hidden Kingdom of Nargothrond to be fostered by one of King Finrod's Elvin-vassals. Barahir himself had been so fostered, along with his brother Bregolas. The Elder children had been taught much that they knew from the Elves, and there could be no better teachers.

The decision as to who would rear their child and where was not Emeldir's to make unfortunately, even though she was his mother. Nor was it her husband's choice. They waited anxiously for the King's messenger to appear. He would be the one to decide. If the lord was satisfied with the boy upon inspection, he may agree to foster him then and there. Or, of course, he might also refuse him. If Beren was refused, the shame would be great, but at least he would be fostered among his own kin and never far from home.

But there was something else that hung over the new mother's head when she looked upon the infant's face that steadily worsened as he grew. He did not smile for the longest time. Most babes smiled at their mothers by the second or third month, but not her son. Beren never smiled until long after, and that was very seldom. He was healthy without the slightest infirmity, and yet she knew, in her mother's heart, that something was amiss. She feared for his future.

Emeldir had her child, now a fussy toddler, in her lap. He was howling for some reason or other, but it was not due to hunger or want of fresh swaddling. Her husband was going over accounts with the steward. She tried to soothe him when one of her servants entered the room, saying that a rider had arrived and had a fair look about him. Barahir and Emeldir knew at once what that must mean. Barahir ordered him to bring the stranger to him and treat him with respect.

The King's messenger stepped into the room cloaked and hooded, but he threw back that hood and it seemed that he had thrown away a veil. He had come from the Hidden Kingdom of Nargothrond and was one of the High-Elves, or those of the Noldor. He looked more like one of the Vanyar. He had golden locks, and his eyes were blue, and unlike human eyes. They were very bright, and his ears, which they noted most of all, were pointed. That characteristic has always been the telltale sign for the Eldar.

The messenger saw Beren and gave a most beguiling smile. The child was still wailing in his mother's lap, and he held out his hands.

"You must excuse me, lady," he said to Emeldir. "I have never seen so small a Man-child, and there are not many Elf-children these days. May I?"

Emeldir was unwilling for the messenger to take Beren off of her hands. This Elf had come to take her child from her in a few years, after all. Then she reluctantly surrendered him, and the Elf took Beren in his arms very gently and began to speak in his own tongue as he rocked him, a rich, pleasant language, and the sound of it, and the light of this messenger's eyes caused Beren to fall into sound sleep. He set Beren into a nanny's arms to be put in his crib and greeted the lord of the Edain, for they were on familiar terms. Emeldir let them alone, deciding that she would oversee a feast for their guest. She, too, recognized him and was certain their son would not be refused from Nargothrond. He would keep his honor but not his home.

Barahir offered his foster-father some wine, which he refused with a wave of his hand.

"Arminas! I am so glad to see you!"

"How has my old pupil been?"

"Old? I daresay I am, and I am well content. You have seen my son."

"Yes. He is a handsome boy. How old is he now?"

"He is two years old."

"He is much like you in looks. I just hope he will not act like you when you were only a mortal boy of five years come to Nargothrond for your education. You were headstrong and always looking to break rules. I do not doubt Beren shall be any different when it is time for his studies. Now, here you are, a powerful lord, a husband, a father, and already starting to grow gray hair!"

Barahir almost choked on his wine, "I have gray hair?"

The two burst into laughter. Barahir ran his fingers through his hair, priming himself. There were flecks of silver in his hair while Arminas' was golden without the slightest touch of frost. They started in again until they were out of breath. Neither said a word for a moment, and when their eyes met, they started chuckling again.

"You always manage to stir up laughter, Arminas," Barahir said. "And here, I have not even finished my first glass of wine! To you!"

He drained his glass and reached for the cask for another bottle, but Arminas stopped him.

"Leave it. I know you," he said sternly.

"Are you going to lecture me about intoxication again, Arminas? I remember getting drunk when I was sixteen and falling out of the guard tower! You were so pale when I fell, and then you became very scarlet when I reminded you that you drank three times as much as I."

"Yes," Arminas chided. "It was fortunate for you that you were near enough to the ground to survive. As for me, I could hold my liquor. You never could, but that is not what I am here to talk about. I just know that sooner or later you shall glut yourself with wine when you hear what I have to say. Just do not glut yourself now."

Barahir nodded, seeing the grave look in his old mentor's eye, and he put the cask away.

"Well, now that we come to it, why are you here, if not to accept my son as a fosterling as I was to you? Did you come all this way just to visit me?"

Arminas shook his head slowly.

"I see," Barahir muttered.

Arminas leaned forward, placing his hand upon his shoulder, and handed him a letter that bore the seal of the King upon it, the emblem of two entwined serpents, one devouring a jeweled flower at the top center while the other devoured his tail. That was the mark of King Finrod. Barahir had known what it was beforehand, and he only stared at it and did not receive it.

"You knew this was coming," Arminas whispered. "You bear the foresight of your people. Of course, I shall take the boy, when you see it fit, but it remains to be seen who will foster him."

Barahir was astonished, "But if you will not foster him, who will?"

"King Finrod has not decided yet. The boy shows promise and I fear that his training may be delayed due to the increasing Enemy activity. Who knows when they shall strike and when I shall have to march to war? Thankfully, it has not come to that yet. That may be a long way off, but let us hope I am not wrong."

The lord of the Edain had been called to the defense of Beleriand. Orc raiders had smuggled their way into Beleriand and were raiding Nargothrond and the borders of Doriath. Barahir could not refuse the summons of his king, and he knew that Finrod himself had penned the handwriting upon the letter. It was not full blown war, but King Finrod would require his presence for advice and to represent his people.

Emeldir was furious at this news. It meant that there was no knowing when he would come home.

"What about our son? What shall I tell him? When he asks for you, must I tell him that I do not know and that you may be dead?"

"You do not have to tell him anything. Give him to me and he will understand. I must leave in the morning when it is full light. The city does need guarding, and it is not likely I will return soon, but do not worry for my life."

Emeldir handed the baby carefully to him, and he awoke. Where was the one with the bright eyes? The babe blinked.

"My son, listen carefully. I must be gone tomorrow, and you may not see me for a long amount of time. You must stay and help your mother."

Then Barahir took up his paraphernalia, kissed his wife and son, and left with Arminas his old mentor.

Beren did not see his father for three years. Emeldir ruled in her husband's name while he was absent, and she ruled just was well as he. She was of the Edain and had the blood of the Elder Men in her same as Barahir. She kept the lord's justice and kept his peace as well. The soldiers of Dorthonion were always on guard and the troubles of the realm endless, so Beren's mother had little time for him. Only now and then would he stop during breakfast when she was still dazed and ask what she had heard of her lord, but he seldom got any news from her. No one knew what Barahir was doing. He was fighting in Nargothrond, ranging the forest of Brethil, fighting before Thangorodrim. It was all fantasy.

Beren changed much over that time. He grew to be a boy tall for his age and wiser than his years. He was stern and cold of mood, for though he never would confess it, he was grieved that his father was often abroad. The child was very reclusive. He did not get along very well with the other boys because he frowned upon childish things. After all, he had no siblings or friends as play mates and he had a temper that was easily provoked. He was obedient to his mother and gentle to those who knew him. He asked his mother to teach him to read when he was four so that he could read books of war and of Elvin-lore. Such things held him in thrall. Since he had read his first book on weapons, he had pestered his mother for a small sword of his own, or even a little dagger, but she strongly rebuked him.

"Do you know if he will come back?" Beren asked his mother.

"Who?"

"Fa… I mean the Lord."

"Do you want him to come back?"

"I do not know," Beren mused. "It would take getting used to. It has always been just you and I, Mother."

"Well, I believe your father will come back, so you must be prepared. He may come to the door tomorrow, or the next evening, or years from now. He did not ask to go. The King summoned him."

"And the tales tell me that Finrod is one of the greatest kings that the world has seen. No messenger would need to make the journey to summon me. I would have already left and have been standing by his side, equipped for battle. I am to be fostered there soon."

"Perhaps, but a boy your age has no family of his own to look after yet. Your father loves you, but you already knew that."

Beren did not answer.

"I hope that you would remember this. Now go…" suddenly she remembered that he did not play and heaved a sigh. "Go see if there is any chore you might help the servants with."

When Beren came out to find the eavesdropper there, he clenched his fist," What are you doing?"

The boy was one of the stable boys and was not permitted near his mother's bower, but he replied, "I came to inform the wench that her horse foaled."

"Watch what you say about my mother! She is the boss here."

"Now that your father is gone, you mean? Where's he got to? Dead likely. Or maybe the King of the Fairies will not let him leave."

Beren could not tolerate the slights to his parents and to his King. He hit the stable boy until several guardsmen pulled him away. By then the boy was bruised and bloody.

His father was released from service the next day and he took with him a name of glory. Of course, the troubles of the realm were far from over. It had merely been granted a respite. He was eager to see his wife and child.

He came to the gates of the house to see Beren sitting up in one of the big oak trees, carving himself a bow. He was not finished with it, but it was surprisingly strong and limber, and he was proud of it. His mother would snap it in half if she saw it, but that did not matter. He knew many places where he could hide it.

Barahir did not recognize his son, nor did Beren recognize him. He had simply been too young.

"You there! Young lad!"

Beren looked up from his bow and saw a man clothed in a travel-worn cloak with a shaggy beard and unkempt hair. He thought sharply that it must be a beggar of some sort or a rogue, quite the opposite of what he should have known.

"Are you a traveler, sir?" he asked. "If so, then you must stay with the locals. The village is back that way on the road you now stand. This is the house of Lord Barahir."

"I am perfectly aware of that, child," Barahir said, and Beren stirred at being called child in such a manner, just as Barahir was irritated by the fact that he had called him sir. "Bring me the lady of the house. I am in need of food and rest."

"Then you must turn back as I told you, sir," Beren insisted. "The lady has other matters, and I am sure that the villagers will not mind taking in one so footsore into their homes for the night."

"Where is Emeldir?"

Beren was angry on behalf of his mother, for this 'peasant' was referring to her by her name and not by her title. He narrowed his eyes.

"Who are you?"

"I am Barahir son of Bregor, lord of the Edain!"

Beren's lips parted in his surprise, and his eyes widened a little, but he recovered. He did not truly believe that this was his father.

"Who are you?"

"Must I repeat my title to you? Are you an idiot child?"

Beren stared aghast at these words, but then he hardened and answered, "If you truly were my father, then perhaps you would recognize me."

With those cruel words, he ran toward the house to fetch his mother. It was Barahir's turn to be amazed, and he stressed himself for having stared his son in the face and never guessed. But Beren did not regret his words and did not regret them until many years later.

"Mother, who is this stranger?" he asked of her. "I like not the looks of him. He looks like a beggar. Throw him out through the gates and do not let him return!"

Then Emeldir scolded the boy.

"This is your father, Beren! This is the man that gave birth to you! He has returned from war, and you have shamed him. Do you not remember the face of your lord? What kind of son does not know his own father?"

Then Beren gaped at him. He did not reject him, but neither did he fully accept him as his father. He did not call him father, and only gave him colorful names if he spoke to him at all. Barahir was deeply injured by this wedge between him and his own child, and he did not know how to reach his son. He had missed so much of his boyhood, but he was tending his weapon one day when Emeldir whispered to him that Beren wished for a blade of his own. Barahir gave him one of his old swords, and Beren was fascinated. He saw the blade and knew it was not made of ordinary metal or steel, and he saw the runes running along the blade. When Barahir saw such interest in his eyes, he told his son that he could have it.

"But be careful," Barahir warned. "It will cut your hand as aught else."

"Father, is it indeed an Elvin-blade?" Beren asked.

"What did you call me?"

"Father."

"It is an Elvin-blade," Barahir answered, his heart rising with encouragement, and he lifted Beren to his lap. For the first time, the boy allowed him to. "This blade was made in Nargothrond where King Finrod dwells, and there, great wealth and power are beheld. There too, belongs the majesty of all good things in Middle-Earth."

"Are there many towers there in Nargothrond? I have read several books written by idiotic dreamers that never laid eyes on the city but wrote about it anyway. One writer said that Nargothrond was a city of living trees. Of course, I know this not to be true. Nargothrond is a city delved into caves. Or is that true?"

Barahir then told his son many tales about Nargothrond, and the boy became very excited.

"Did King Finrod give this to you as a gift?"

"Yes. And this, I think, will be do well enough as a sword for you. The king gave it to me himself when I was your age. Carry it with honor, and it will please him to know that it has become an heirloom of the house of Bëor!"

The boy's eyes widened with delight, but he dropped it and bowed his head.

"What is it?"

"I do not know how to wield it."

"Then let your father be your teacher."

Then Emeldir laughed as she watched her husband and her son from afar, and Beren truly looked to be a prince with the sword in his hands. And when the boy's birthday came, Barahir had an even greater gift to give.

"Emeldir," Barahir said to his wife. "I think he is ready. It is time he took his place as a man of the Edain!"

"What do you mean, lord?" Beren asked eagerly.

"We are going to Nargothrond, and you shall be brought before King Finrod and the High-Elves. You shall be announced as the heir of the Edain. You shall also receive schooling from them. The Elves have always been our mentors. They will choose a foster-father for you in time. May you learn all that he has to teach."

"Yippee!"

The boy ran off to pack his things.

Emeldir paled and said, "No! Allow the boy to stay among his mother's kin for a few more years yet!"

"When shall I take my place beside my king in battle?" Beren demanded impatiently.

"You are much too young, my son."

"I am of the house of Bëor, and I want to fight!"

"We have need of an heir, for I fear that war is coming," Barahir said grimly. "I must name Beren as my heir as soon as possible, and there is no better place to prepare him for that than Nargothrond with the Noldor. Dorthonion will not be safe. Look how excited he is!"

Emeldir was forced to submit to her husband's will. She had dreaded this day, but the stone was set. It did not make the pain any easier. Many of the other boys of Ladros that had been chosen as wards for Elvin-lords were going to Nargothrond to be schooled. They ranged in age, but none were older than twelve or younger than four years old. They set out as one company. They were all Beren's cousins, some more distant than others. Belegund, Baragund, and Gorlim were his closest kin. They were laughing and talking and seemed to take no notice of him at all. Then Gorlim turned to him. The other boys were four years older than Beren, being eleven years of age, but Gorlim took a liking to Beren.

"Hello, master," he said.

"Master?"

"You are the heir of our kindred. Baragund, Belegund! This is our future lord! Honor him!"

The twins stopped chattering at once and turned to Beren.

"Hail Beren, lord of the Edain!"

Beren nodded his head in answer and found that these two boys would not stop talking to him once they had been introduced.

"How old are you?" asked one.

"Seven."

"You are too tall to be seven!" said the other.

"We are going to see Elves!" said Belegund. "I have never seen one."

"I did," Baragund boasted.

"No, you did not! You're a liar!"

"At least I thought it was an Elf."

"You're not even a good liar! I bet you go to see Orcs, though, whenever you have the chance!"

"You look like one of them!"

"Do not! You look like an ugly one!"

Beren and Gorlim exchanged meaningful glances.

"I am going to miss father," Baragund said sadly.

"That's because you're his favorite!"

"Am not!"

"Are too!"

"At least I'm not a mamma's boy!"

"Are not!"

"Are too!"

Beren checked his horse and fell back behind them, and Gorlim did the same.

"Don't mind them," he said. "They do not have much sense, though they say two heads are better than one. Perhaps they prove that old saying wrong. My name's Gorlim."

"It is good to know my own blood," Beren answered.

"I am not going to miss Dorthonion. It is a rather stark and insignificant place. The only thing that I am leaving behind is my mother, and she is too busy with her suitors to bother with me."

"What of your father?"

Gorlim grimaced for a moment and answered, "Unfortunately, my father did not return from the defenses of Nargothrond."

Beren said nothing. He knew that it was probably better to say nothing rather than say something hurtful with clumsy words.

Never had Beren seen the strange folk of Elves, save Arminas when he was too young to remember clearly, and it was Arminas that came to them now. He came riding upon his white horse with an escort of his servants, shining like the sun, and Beren recognized him immediately.

"You! I know you!" he cried, surprised at his outburst of emotion, and his cousins began laughing. "I remember that you sang to me years ago! You are going to be my foster-father, are you not?"

"Quite sharp are you?" Arminas answered, smiling. "That is excellent! An heir of a lord must be clever. But you have grown so much! I am afraid that the power of my voice shall not work magic for you any longer. No, I will not be your foster-father. That task is for someone else."

He got down from his horse and dismissed the faithful beast with a wave of his hand. He sat at the table with the lord and lady, drinking wine like a drunkard but speaking clearly and still quite sober and alert. He was not drunk at all, though he had drank enough to intoxicate any man.

"I wish I could do that," Belegund whispered. "This Elf is my hero! Look at all the ale he's taken!"

The Elf sang Beren to sleep that night. He still had that power, and Beren was enticed by the light in his eyes. His voice was a luscious baritone.

"Are all Elves like you?" he asked.

"Like me?" Arminas was quite startled.

"Yes! You are so beautiful and a mystery always slowly unfolding like a flower!"

"Are all mortals like you? You do not even begin to realize what a mystery you are!"

Beren laughed. Again, he was amazed at himself. He laughed seldom.

"Well," he said, "I do not get along with the other boys. They fear me."

"As they feared your father."

"I am not like my father."

"Oh really?" Arminas studied him closely. "I do not think so."

Soon afterward, they made their way into Nargothrond, the city itself. Beren looked upon the splendor of the Caves through the eyes of a boy. The children were presented before the royal court, and when Finrod first beheld them all, the other boys trembled, though Beren was not afraid. Finrod looked young and was a good-natured fellow, but he seemed somehow ancient and wise. Finrod was also one of the fairest of the Eldar, and could be as terrible an Elvin-warrior as he was fair. Finrod spoke to him as though he were truly a full-grown man, heir of the highest and most faithful houses of Men.

"I have never seen such eyes of stormy gray in my life time, and that is saying much," the king said of Beren. "No doubt you are farsighted, in more ways than one."

"My king," the boy knelt at once, forgetting it was not elfish custom.

"Rise, heir of the Edain! Allies do not kneel. If anyone should kneel, it should be me. I am tall. Too tall, I fear."

So Finrod lowered himself upon all fours with a grin. The other boys laughed, and Beren found himself smiling. Finrod was just as he had imagined a king to be, and the city of Nargothrond beautiful and vast.

"Now you must be wondering who it is that will foster you."

Beren was suddenly afraid. He had never really thought about who would foster him. His father seemed to think that Arminas would foster him, but he had denied that claim. He hoped whoever his foster-father was would not be too strict.

The King smiled, "Arminas will foster you, but I will be monitoring your progress closely."

The whole court and score of retainers was shocked, including Beren himself. King Finrod had never taken such a special interest before.

Finrod and Arminas taught him much wisdom that proved to be a chief shaping in the boy's life. He often wondered what kind of man he might have become without him. He told Beren that a lord's son must be educated in reading and writing as well as in weapons and war. He learned arithmetic and astronomy, as well as philosophy and some of the art of science. He learned all three of the Elvin tongues, Noldor, Sindar, and Silvan and memorized much of their poems and songs by heart. The Elves were also his teachers concerning Ilúvatar and the Valar, for the ancients of the Noldor had spoken with the Valar themselves.

He spent most of his time in the House of Play with the other children. The House of Play was not a house, but a place where all the children of Nargothrond went to stay when their parents were gone or busy with their duties, or if they simply wanted to meet their friends and get away from their own home. It was a nursery as well as a library. There, Beren often roamed the hallways and collaborated with the other boys of his house and with a few Elvin-children.

These children were much older than any human children, and several of the other boys were afraid of them. Even Gorlim was more circumspect when he was about them. But Beren seemed to enjoy their company. After all, children are children, and very much alike. While the other boys were playing or chasing after the girls, Beren was found studying or practicing with great determination on his fencing techniques with the Elf-children. They found him quite interesting, for a mortal, and they held him in high regard. It also made others envious.

One day, when Beren was thirteen, an Elvin-boy, the only child there that feared Beren and was jealous of him, called him names and tried to provoke him into wrath so that he would lose his place among the Elvin-children.

"You must be a giant compared to your kind," he said one day. "Many of your people are stunted like the Naugrim!"

"Like a Dwarf?"

"Exactly! And then they grow beards so that they look even more so like little, twisted old men!"

"What did you say?" he had Beren's attention.

"Even the Edain sometimes grow beards and cannot keep themselves clean."

Beren replied by spilling his ink bottle upon the boy's fine cloth of gold vest. "Oh, my hand slipped, I am afraid. Now you are dirtier than I am. Oh well, a good washing is all the fabric needs. It looks as though you have rubbed some of the ink upon your nose now! It is on your hands too!"

The boy did not answer. He was fuming with rage.

"Of course," Beren continued, still very calmly, "I realize you must be a very active boy. Therefore, you may be excused of your messy looks, and I will also excuse your rudeness, although, I must remind you that you are of the Eldar. Besides, my mother told me that a beard is the sign of a seasoned man."

"They only make you look as ancient and dry as an old oak!" the other snapped. "It is unnatural, I say."

"Pointy ears is unnatural, I say."

The other children laughed good-naturedly with Beren. The Elvin-boy was humiliated and instead of insulted the others were amused! He sought to strike back at Beren in any way he could. He threw a play sword at Beren's feet with the most competitive grin upon his face.

"I challenge you to a match," he said. "Do you accept?"

"Gladly," Beren answered, snatching it up. "I have been itching for a match lately."

The children gathered round to watch. Beren and the Elvin-boy circled each other, and then gave a courteous bow. They clashed their swords together and began the match. The two boys tried a few simple tricks with their swords and laughed at the fun they were having. Beren was just toying with the Elvin-boy, and so he won the match quite easily. His father had taught him well, and Finrod himself was not a bad swordsman. The Elvin-boy was merely the apprentice of a cobbler and seldom touched swords.

"I win," Beren said, grinning.

"I request a rematch," the Elvin-boy said. "And this time I shall win."

"I will grant your request," Beren said. "But this time, I shall hold back a little for you. You are only a novice, judging by your performance."

The Elvin-boy frowned at that, and his anger boiled over. They began the second match, and the two boys were making quite a show of contest, but then the Elvin-youth stuck out his foot and tripped Beren so that he fell full upon his face. Beren was a hot-tempered boy, and he had great pride being a man and a lord's son.

The boys about them began laughing, and the little maids gasped and cried aloud, fearful that Beren had received hurt, but he was not hurt. At least nothing was hurt but his pride. He quickly recovered from the fall, ignoring the pain and the blood that trickled from his nose. He took hold of the other boy's ankle. There was a cracking sound, and Beren threw him to the floor beside him and sprang to his feet. The Elvin-boy rolled away from him, stunned. He tried to recover as Beren had done, but he realized that Beren had broken his ankle. Beren was quite strong, though he was still quite young and of lean build. He was one of the strongest of his kin. He threw away his sword and raised his fists instead. The Elvin-boy did the same. Beren managed to give the boy a black eye and justified himself for his nose. At this point, the Elves there that watched over the children sprang from their chairs and pulled them apart

"Engwar! May you and your entire race fall into the hands of Angband and die for all I care! You are only thralls of Morgoth! His chain awaits you!"

Beren recoiled as though he had been struck with a blow. He took most pride in what he was. He was a Man, and this boy had clearly insulted him with everything he had. Engwar in the Elvin-language meant Sickly.

They summoned Finrod. Beren tried to hide from him when he came in, but the Noldoli King had sharp eyes.

"There he is. I had to come in here yesterday also. Two straight days is a record for you, is it not?"

Beren nodded that it was so, and Finrod lectured Beren and demanded that he apologize.

"Never!" Beren answered. "He cheated! He tripped me! And then he called me Engwar! He also called me a thrall! Did you not hear so yourself?"

"Do you know what 'thrall' means?"

"It means you are a slave. A slave driven by fear fed only enough to survive and for the purpose that you may toil until you are fit for the job no longer. Do you think me a fool?"

"No. Not at all. It is clear to see that you are wise beyond your years. But you have much to learn, Beren. No matter how old or how wise you are, you must remember that there is always someone older and wiser than you."

"I do not want to hear any more Elvin proverbs!" Beren snapped. "I know them all by heart!"

"While you fight, you must keep your head and control your temper."

"He cheated first!" Beren argued.

"And he shall have to apologize for that, but you must also apologize."

One of the Elvin-maids brought out the other boy, and he stared down at the floor, the bruise over his eye swelling.

"Pardon me, Master," he said with an effort.

Arminas gave Beren a stern glance.

"I cannot pardon him for the words he said!"

"But I take them back! It was just a stupid game anyway."

"You are forgiven," Beren said at last, knowing Finrod would only berate him later if he did not.

"Now you must apologize, Beren."

Beren turned his head sharply. "What?"

"It was a stupid game. You said so yourself. But you were the one that took it a step farther. You were the aggressor."

It took all of Beren's strength to ask for his own pardon, which the other boy accepted. Then he was led away, and Beren put his hands on his hips.

"I want justice!" he hissed.

Finrod and the other Elves laughed.

"What would you call justice, Master?"

"That boy should have asked for my pardon and then been punished!"

Finrod shook his head and said, "But he was punished. We made him apologize to you and right his wrongs. You also had to taste the bitterness of it."

"Which was undeserved. You should have made him pay for cheating. I thought Elves did not cheat. The Enemy started with little games too."

"Is it not true that some of your kin fear and hate ours and are never anything but violent?"

"You speak of another house of Men. I am one of the Edain, the Elf-friends like my father before me, and it is so for my ancestors all the way back to our ancient sire: Bëor! I am no traitor, nor a cheater!"

"No one accused you of being a traitor, Beren. The word does not suit you. Never mind what that boy said. I shall seek out his father and ask him if his son has no better judgment than he. As for what you said about the Elves cheating, in part, you are right. Elves can be just as wicked as Orcs. The Enemy has more human supporters than any other of the Free People, but they are also his greatest foes."

"Men are not so vulnerable," Beren said stubbornly. "At least I am not. I shall prove it to you! All of you!"

"What do you wish to prove with your temper and your ambition, Master?"

"I want to be a warrior! A warrior like my father, and like my king! Enough with all of these little games with sticks. I can no longer stomach books either. Have I not learned enough by now? It is swords that we need to fight the Enemy. Why not send me now? I am a better swordsman than any other boy in the whole of Nargothrond!"

The Elves burst out laughing again. Finrod, however, did not laugh. He crossed his arms across his chest and shook his head in disapproval.

"You want to be a warrior?" he asked. "That is all?"

Beren nodded vigorously.

"Oh really?"

"Yes. I shall be the greatest warrior East of the Sea!"

"And do you have any idea what it means to be a warrior?"

"It means you fight and conquer in the king's name. It means you have strength and courage and rewarded for it."

"I do not think you have the slightest idea what it means."

Finrod placed the play sword in the boy's hand and drew one for himself.

"I shall show you what it is like to be a warrior. Just a hint of it, however. Gelmir, I shall need your help, as well as all the rest of you. Beren, choose one of those boys to be your squire. Every warrior has one."

"Gorlim."

Gorlim stood and was given a dull blade.

The Elves gathered about. Gelmir began to play a tune on his pipe. When the minstrels of the Eldar played, even those with little skill, it could cause visions and invoke the senses. Finrod began an easy duel with the boy, all the while speaking casually, then more dramatically. Beren heard the Elvin-music and felt as though he was passing into another realm. It seemed that everything had vanished but Arminas before him and Gorlim at his side, and always the music in his ears.

"You have trained all your life," the king began. "Snatched from your parents only to train, to learn to kill. Many years have passed. You are a young warrior. It has been a long life, though you are still in your youth. It has also been very lonely. You have no children, not even a wife, for that is a warrior's advantage. There is no family to hinder you from the reaping of flesh. It is hard to make friends, for most do not survive their first real test. Your only companion, the only one you can trust, is the one at your side."

Beren glanced at Gorlim. They grinned at each other.

"Being a warrior does have its pleasures. You have honor. Many may come to learn your skills. All others respect you. You may even become fat and happy. Peace is here, and you are bored. But war has suddenly erupted. It takes you by surprise, and you must defend your king. You must begin by leaving everything you own behind and march to the slaughter."

"And defend the king I shall!" Beren answered.

"Ah, but once you are upon the battlefield, your notions change. You change. You strike down a man, only for him to be replaced by two others."

Two of the servants sprang at Beren with their wooden swords. Beren had to be quick to dodge, and still Finrod gave one steady blow after another, the music droning on and picking up its rhythm. He could see the battlefield about him, not green like it was in the songs and tales. It was stained with red and black blood.

"The battle becomes more pressed, more difficult. Your enemies increase and your strength is failing. Twenty have fallen by your sword, but you are almost spent! But the battle is still going on! You must defend your sworn king! Our beloved Finrod! We cannot lose him! We must not lose him! All will be lost!"

"Hey!" Beren cried as two more Elves began to do battle. The boy had to dive under their legs and was sweating. Rage inflamed him and it seemed that Finrod's words were becoming reality. He was getting more exhausted all the time. At least Gorlim was there at his aid. He was not very bad at fighting either.

"Your enemies are strong," Finrod continued. "They are all about! Your head is spinning with the reek of blood and your own putrid sweat and your whole world is revolving with it, faster and faster!"

Gorlim tripped over his feet, and two of the servants had caught him up, disarmed him, and carried him away from the fight. Beren let out a cry.

"Gorlim?"

"No time to save your comrade, Beren!" Finrod caught his attention by hitting the back of his leg with his sword while he was distracted. "He has fallen! You are all alone now. No time for emotion. The only one you need to save is your king!"

The Elves were using all their speed, and they were quicker than Beren. He was hit a few times with the wooden sword. Ouch! That hurt, but Beren endured the pain.

"You are wounded and the Enemy is SCREAMING AT THE TOP OF THEIR LUNGS! DEATH TO THE WITCHES AND THEIR BRIGHT-EYES! DEATH TO THEIR ALLIES, THE CURSED ELF-FRIENDS!"

Beren's ears felt as though they would burst. Finrod was in his face now, shouting. The other Elves began shouting and hooting like madmen, like Orcs, and with the illusion from the minstrels, they appeared as Orcs.

"Just when you think things could not get worse, it begins to rain and the wind howls and gathers speed."

Beren could hear the harsh winds, felt cold droplets upon his face and smell the scent of rain.

"YOUR ONLY HOPE IS FOR THE DAWN TO COME, BUT DAWN IS TOO FAR AWAY! THE BATTLE WILL BE LOST!"

Beren could not go on much longer. His muscles were aching and Finrod suddenly drew a real sword. Beren's eyes widened with shock and fear. This was too real for his comfort.

"Meanwhile, while this is going on . . . "

Finrod suddenly moved forward too quickly for Beren's eyes to see. He kicked the boy so that he fell backwards onto the floor. His wooden sword, useless and cleaved in two, fell out of his hand. The music came to an abrupt halt and the illusion dissipated. There was silence, and Beren plummeted back to reality. He was no longer a warrior upon the battlefield. He was only a boy with a broken stick in the House of Play.

The king snatched up the broken stick and frowned.

"The king has been captured, and now, great warrior, you are dead. Some heroes fall while others stand. There is another Elvin proverb for you. If your enemies have not killed you by now, you will only be diminished in spirit. They will drag you back to Angband to make you a thrall. You shall never see the light of another day again. You are utterly defeated."

Beren was stunned and sat where he was.

The king took a deep breath and said, "War brings much more than glory. They have uncertain outcomes. Being skilled in battle and having a high rank, or even noble birth, does not mean that you are invincible or that a desperate farm boy will not do any better than you. It does not mean at all that you are not going to die. Even if warriors survive, a new battle shall be fought, always. It is an endless cycle. Soon, you forget what you are fighting for. There is nothing worse than disillusion."

"I still wish to be a warrior," Beren reassured him.

"There shall soon come a time when you will learn that to be a warrior is very different from being a good soldier or a hero, Master. They all gain glory, but in different ways."

"I shall be all three."

"When you say you will be a warrior, a good soldier, and a hero, you are saying that you will become three different people. How can you do that? I have heard of a double life, but this is preposterous!"

"What do you mean?"

"A warrior is someone who fights single-handedly in combat with a lust for battle," said Gelmir. "A soldier is one that does his duty as well as he can when he is needed. The key word is duty. A hero is quite different. You cannot be all three. To be a hero, you fight with faith and courage. You fight with your heart and soul for Ilúvatar and the realm. Most of us sink only to a common soldier. Which shall you be, Master?"

"I want to be a hero," they caught the trace of the old echo.

"So you shall be if that is what you choose," laughed the Elves. "But first, you must become a good soldier and fight for duty rather than blood lust. You fight like a warrior. You must throw away your pride, hero, and ask for your opposer's pardon. You must be considerate and loving. Once you have become a good soldier, you can become a hero. Someday, you may become a hero, but you must work for that title and not use it as an excuse to fight with your peers."

"But you will never claim such a title," said an Elf in the shadows, and Finrod and Gelmir scowled. "Ilúvatar is but a shadow of goodness. There is goodness in all of us, and there is great evil in us as well. There is good in evil, and evil in good, and that is what holds the world in balance. Can not a Man or Elf walk in-between?"

"Excuse me, I have business to attend to," Finrod said and dismissed himself.

Gelmir looked as though he would have given anything to follow him. "Celegorm! What are you doing here? And what sort of madness may you be jabbering about?"

"We have come to Nargothrond on business of our own," said Celegorm, and he stepped out of the shadows. "And I speak of only that which I know. I do not pretend to know exactly what 'Ilúvatar's cause' may be. I am not a theologian."

Celegorm towered over Beren, a black Elvin-bow slung over his shoulder, and his sword plainly visible at his side. Curufin, the Elf's brother, stepped beside him, and the two Elvin-princes frowned.

"What sort of business, I wonder?" Gelmir snickered.

"Our business is our own," Celegorm answered curtly.

"Kinslayers should not be welcome here."

"Who is the child?" Celegorm asked.

"This is Beren son of Barahir, heir of the Edain."

Celegorm stooped down so that his eyes were level with Beren's. He studied the boy, sizing him up. Beren sized Celegorm up in turn. He did not like him, but Celegorm smiled.

"So, you want to be a hero, boy?" he asked, and Beren, child though he was, could sense the mockery in his voice.

"I will be," he answered boldly. "My father is a hero, isn't he?"

"I do not create titles, little Master."

"No one has called me little since I was four years old."

"Lord Celegorm," Arminas said coldly. "You must leave. There are children here, and it is almost time for their rest. What do you want from us here at the House of Play?"

"My brother and I came to see the child," Celegorm answered, and Beren looked up in surprise. "After all, someday he may grow up and will be the Lord of the Edain, a king among Men."

The two princes gave a courteous bow, which only made Gelmir scowl. Celegorm ruffled Beren's hair and he and his brother left. Beren stared after them.

He asked the king, "Who are they?"

"They are two of the seven Sons of Fëanor. Celegorm and Curufin. You have never heard of them before?"

"I have heard some tales about them, but . . . "

"The Sons of Fëanor have done terrible deeds. They shed the blood of their brothers, the Teleri, for their ships ages ago."

Beren had first learned the great secret of the Noldoli immigration from Barahir himself. Fëanor and his sons had slain the mariners of the Teleri, and taken their ships out of Valinor. Of all these Noldoli, only Finarfin's descendants had no hand in the kin slaying, Finarfin's wife being herself Telerian. Finrod's father had spoken against Fëanor, and in retribution, he and his people had been abandoned to make their way by foot into Middle-earth, following to avenge this injustice. By the time they had made their journey, Fëanor was slain, and his sons were quick to make peace, but Finarfin and his folk never forgave the evil done in Valinor.

"I know the tale. I understand more than you think. I remember only a little of their story, however. I was only a child when the midwives told me fireside stories."

"You still are a child."

"Not for long. I must grow up soon, and it is a grudgingly long wait."

"But you must treasure your childhood while it lasts."

"There is naught to treasure," Beren said bitterly. "And the Sons of-"

"They are perilous, and they have little love for your kin, Beren."

"Why do the Sons of Fëanor hate my people, and why do some Men hate Elves so?"

"Alas! I wonder if we were ever this innocent! I just hope that you remain the way you are, Beren. Perhaps I should not even try to explain to you what hate is and why Elves and Men are so different from each other. They say that we should never have met. Sometimes, I agree, but I think that it is better we learn from each other while we can. I know that the First and Second born cannot both dominate the earth forever. It shall be one or the other, and it seems to us that Men are weak but they often surprise us. They might win the battle for Middle-Earth, and who knows what shall happen to our land then?"

"My race only seems more numerous because most Elves are leaving over the Sea," Beren said. "But where to I often wonder?"

"To the Undying Lands. That is our promised land, if we have the heart to leave our home of Beleriand."

"I hope you never leave, milord."

"I hope that I never shall have the need to," Finrod smiled a sad smile. "But who knows? Evil is growing in our lands. It may be that I no longer have a choice, and the Undying Lands call to me in my dreams."

"Why cannot we all live in the Undying Lands in peace? Why must we be forever severed?" Beren asked.

"You must wait until you are older to understand these matters."

"Then I must wait for a lifetime!"

"Do not be discouraged, Beren! You shall learn soon enough, or too soon, I fear. But remember that there are other, fairer things in this world."

"Like Nargothrond?"

"The world is a vast place, and when you take your father's lordship, it will be yours to explore. Nargothrond is but one fair domain in Middle-Earth. You may journey even farther than I know myself, though I have walked the wide earth since the Beginning."

"How old are you?" Beren asked in amazement.

"Far older than you can imagine, and I am of one of the younger generations. Others awoke at the Waters of Awakening."

"Tell me what it was like in the time of the Elves!" Beren said eagerly. "I want to hear of the days before Morgoth!"

"Perhaps another night. You are a son of Man. I have so little time to teach you everything!"

He noticed a gleam in his foster-son's eyes.

"What is it?" his mentor asked.

"I like him not."

"Who?"

"Celegorm."

"Well, for that, I cannot blame you! Celegorm is the most ambitious Elf I have ever met, at least the most ambitious of the Sons of Fëanor. Their Oath shall drive them, and yet betray them, and ever snatch away the very treasures that they have sworn to pursue. So declared Mandos. Pay no thought to him, Beren, for there are some that love him and others that call him Kinslayer behind closed doors. We must return to your studies."

Beren went to his bed and found his thoughts wandering to Celegorm, despite himself. He was often in Nargothrond, and he would visit the children of the city occasionally. They all seemed to love him. But for Beren, the first impression lingered, and he could never understand why, but he did not trust Celegorm.

He would often sit in the king's halls and listen to tales about the Noldor and the Silmarils. One day Finrod told Beren of the Princess of the Sindar.

"Who is she?" Beren asked.

"She is the fairest maiden that has or ever shall walk upon this earth. She is Lúthien, daughter of King Thingol and Queen Melian. She is Half-Maia. She has raven black hair, and eyes bright and gray."

"You have seen the woman?"

"The Elvin-maid. I was visiting Doriath and saw her sing there, for she is not renowned for her beauty alone. She is a dancer and singer. Thingol treasures his daughter more than any of his possessions."

Beren then realized that the King had no heirs, nor did he even have a queen.

"My lord," he asked. "Why do you not have children? You should wed this Princess."

Finrod was so startled and amused by the boy's boldness that he laughed outright, "Thingol and I have discussed it. It is a notion, nothing more, though I daresay she will make quite a bride to a particular person."

"What shall happen when you die?"

"Then the throne I possess would be given to those of the eldest line. My brother Orodreth might be crowned, or Maedhros, eldest of the sons of Fëanor. I would rather Orodreth take office, but I must also take into account the people's wishes."

"But why do you not marry?"

"I already have children, Beren. The people are my sons and daughters. Besides, you are my foster son now. You are the closest thing to a true son that I will ever have. I am content with that."

Beren hugged him and said, "I wonder… How old is this princess? Is she a girl still?"

"I fear you are an egg compared to her."

"Could a Man and a She-Elf marry?"

Finrod became very silent and studied Beren carefully, "That I do not know. It has never been done before. Why would it? Such a union would be nothing but brief and tragic."

Whenever Barahir returned from his services to visit his son in Nargothrond, he would often take him hunting with him. The maturing boy relished this time with his father, for he did not often see him, and he had not laid eyes upon his mother since he had departed from Dorthonion. His father gave him little news of their home and of Emeldir, saying that it was better that he focus instead upon his training and his studies. Neither would he tell him of his own deeds and the goings on in Beleriand. That left a bad taste in Beren's mouth. Sometimes he despised his father all over again, as he had when he was a child. But when he was with him, he was able to forgive his father of most anything.

Finrod and the other Elves had taught him all the ways of Nature, including hunting lore. He enjoyed nothing more, and the boy seemed to have been born with a special gift in wood-lore. He had learned the way of animals, their strengths and weaknesses and behaviors. He could almost speak with the animals as some Elves could. He ranged the wild lands with his bow slung over his shoulder, a falcon or a hound following. He often brought a fattened boar for the King's table and meat for his own. He tracked down predators that had become a nuisance.

He would become the greatest hunter known in Middle-Earth, and never would there be a hunter like him. His skill in hunting also gave him talent in battle. He learned to ride a horse like any rider of war, and the Enemy was his prey. He became a keen archer, as adept with his bow as he was with his sword. His eyes were sharp; sharper than any among the kin of Men because he had trained his eye to pick up insidious but critical details so that his skill and aim could never fail him.

Beren grew up swifter than many of his cousins. His dark hair had become long and was cut just above his shoulders. His eyes were stormy gray and boasted of wisdom beyond his years. They could be gentle and laughing one moment and hard and grim the next. With the discipline of a warrior and a hunter he had bridled his temper. He was a noble man and tall. He was also slender and born with the strength and hardihood of the Edain.

The boy was almost of age, near fourteen. He went out on the hunt, tracking five wolves. He returned that night and brought back five wolf skins. He gave one to Arminas, the second to Gelmir, a friend and mentor, the third to his father, the fourth to his closest friend, Gorlim, and he gave the last to King Finrod, which he claimed had been the leader of the pack and had almost torn out his throat. It was at that time that Finrod proudly named him one of his brightest students of weapons and wood-lore and his academic studies were complete. He had little more to teach him. Barahir had sworn loyalty to the Noldor king and Beren was eager to follow in his father's footsteps. Beren was so resolute to be knighted that he stormed in to see the king and threw his sword down and kneeled as he had done many times before.

"My lord and king," he said, "I am now ready to be knighted. Swear me to your service."

"But Beren, you are still a child."

"There is nothing more that I need learn!" he insisted. "Bring me one of your most skilled knights, and I shall defeat him."

"I shall make you your father's squire, and you shall be knighted by him when he feels it is time, though you still are quite young."

Squiring his father, Beren at last was able to develop a real relationship with him. As his squire, he was required to ride everywhere with him. He geared him in armor, served him his meals and his cup, tended his fire and made his bed. He received his first taste of battle, hunting the occasional brigand of Orcs or wild men. After four years of the slavish labor, he was elevated from a squire to a knight. It was with great pride and joy that he received knighthood and vowed his undying service to Finrod. He was given a sword and shield and blessed by his father, his foster-father, and the King himself. He became one of Finrod's most honored vassals. He was a true knight.

Then the Battle of Sudden Flame began: The Battle of Bragollach, and the Enemy had seen many fruitful victories on their part. The Elves would not see their beloved Silmarils very soon. It was up to the Edain to stop evil from hemming their way into the Elf-kingdom, and Barahir asked the king's leave to return to Dorthonion and ambush the Enemy in an attempt to cripple their forces. Beren stepped beside his father.

"We have sworn to your service, to protect you and the people of your realm, including our own, and to do your bidding in all things. One of those things is to eradicate the Enemy and purge the land of their malice. I intend to join my father and my kinsmen in this battle."

Both the king and his father felt a strong dissent at his proposal.

"What is it that you see in battle that so attracts you?" Finrod demanded.

"It will be just like another day of hunting," he said.

"It is an ugly business, Beren," Finrod said. "It is not like the tales."

Beren grimaced and looked away. "I am not a suckling babe," he said. "I have seen ugly things before. I have had my share of battle as a squire."

"That was not war. Those were skirmishes that were resolved quickly and easily. War is a different matter."

"But-"

"Have you seen a man trying to retreat holding his intestines inside his belly, Beren?" Finrod was firm. "There are years of such sights as those. That is the true way of war."

"And I am a warrior, same as my father, and I do not see you trying to convince him to remain."

Finrod sighed, "You shall be serving under your father. You must obey him as you would obey my own orders."

"Yes, lord. I understand."

But King Finrod was torn with a dreadful foreboding, and he warned Barahir, saying that he did not fear the enemy in this matter, but for Barahir and his son. But Barahir was stubborn and did not heed Finrod's dark hints and riddles. Beren was anxious to go and meet the Enemy face-to-face in open battle, so the king had little choice but to let them leave. There was no way of dissuading the lord Barahir and son. So Beren and his father and the rest of the house of Bëor began their struggle against the Enemy.

Beren was content, save for one matter. He always dreamed a strange dream that would not leave him. He spoke of it to the Elves, asking for them to interpret it. If he could not, his father certainly would not be able to.

"This dream is a glimpse of your coming future," Arminas answered gravely. "The Sea element means that you shall be traveling, and the darkness is a sign of major emotional upheaval. Not a very good omen for you, I am afraid. The young maiden at your side is a good omen. Perhaps she is your future love!"

Beren frowned, unappreciative of the jest.

"The moon covered means that perseverance will help you overcome your troubles. I do not know what all these strange elements mean. Perhaps it forebodes that there is hope through your ordeals after all."

"How do you know these things?"

"The teacher asks the questions. Now I will tell you what I dreamed last night. I dreamed that a badger and a squirrel were quarreling. They both thought their tails were the shiniest and the grandest. Then came a sly fox from his burrow that had heard the whole thing.

'That is nonsense,' said he. 'Why, everyone knows that there is no finer creature under heaven with a tail as beautiful as mine.'

"They continued quarreling, their brawl becoming more heated by the moment. They would have fought so until the Valar came again, if they had been permitted. But at last there came a large, silver coated wolf. He had been sleeping until the quarrel broke out and was very foul of mood. He was also hungry.

'The goblins take you all,' said he. 'You shall pay for wakening me. I shall just devour your fine tails and there shall be no quarreling, and I shall have no further need to search for my supper. Now hold still, you!'

"The imprudent animals fled everywhere, but the wolf ran in pursuit. The fox got his beautiful, long, red-tipped tail caught in the brambles while he ran, and the wolf gulped it down. Then the badger found that his own shelter was flooded with water and he too fell victim! The squirrel was last to be caught. Being the fool that he was, the fool that had started this bloody game, saw a large nut and thought to take it to his hoard. He gathered the irresistible nut into his little claws and prepared to shimmy up the tree, thinking the wolf had missed him. As he was climbing, however, the wolf sprang from hiding and bit upon it. So the wolf consumed their tails, and they were so delicious that the wolf had a full belly and was very satisfied. He soon fell asleep again. The animals were licking their wounds and grieving for their beautiful tails when they heard him chuckle and say one thing before he slept:

'Yes, I agree,' was what he said. 'They are all grand tails indeed.'

"That is all," Arminas concluded. "It is a rather funny story, eh?"

"Outrageous is a better word," Beren answered. "Let me interpret it. Let's see . . . The badger is good for commerce, the fox is a rival, but since both were defeated, they may cancel each other. The squirrel running up a tree is trouble, but since he too was put to shame, that is not bad at all. The wolf is always a bad omen. Now I am very confused."

"Do you want me to tell you the meaning of it?"

"This should be interesting."

"There is no meaning," Arminas answered.

"Would the moral: Never quarrel or take too much pride in your own self suit?"

"Perhaps. I just thought it was humorous," Arminas said with a shrug. "I have tended to your sword. You shall in no doubt look after yourself. Now farewell, hero."

The Elf handed him his sword and dug out a casket of wine.

"Where did that come from?" Beren cried. "You hypocrite! I thought you never drank unless it was a special occasion!"

"Being alive after all my years of wandering is special enough. I trust that your going away is worth a drink also. There is nothing wrong with a little hypocrisy," Arminas answered grinning. "Let us drink to that!"

Beren drank a little. It was Elf-wine, much stronger than he was used to. He drank and then, the wine going to his head, fell asleep. He had that dream again. In the dream, he saw the Sea, something he had not seen in all his life. But it was not the Sea that filled his heart with sorrow and with joy. Beside him was an Elvin-girl; the most beautiful he had ever dreamed of or ever imagined. He made toward her, and the Sea stirred and darkness veiled the moon. The Elvin-woman seemed afraid and turned as though to flee.

"No! Do not run! Do not be afraid of me!" Beren cried.

"I am not afraid," she paused.

"What is your name?"

"I am Tinúviel," she answered.

She spoke no other word to him, and then she turned and fled from him.


	3. Chapter 3 The Blood Waters

Three

The Blood Waters of Tarn Aeluin

Beren gazed at himself in the waters of Tarn Aeluin. His reflection peered back at him, careworn and rugged. A new beard was beginning to grow upon his chin. Later he would shave, if he could find a decent razor. His sword was much too dulled with use. His companions sat arguing as they commonly did during these times. Beren had once been the advocate in every argument, but he grew weary of quarreling and evaded all questions and insults. He did not even listen to the altercation. Instead, he kept glancing into the water, wrapped in his own thoughts.

Tarn Aeluin. Many said that it was a holy place. Melian the Maia had hollowed out the lake long ago, and the waters were crystal blue. If there was any place that Beren could find peace and serenity from his present state, it must be here. As he looked into the liquid mirror, he thought about the strange dream that he always had. It had come to him once again the night before, just when he had thought he had rid himself of it. Then he looked about him.

The land of Dorthonion was a gift from the Elves to the Edain. Beren had been born here, and there were once many villages of Men. But now they were all gone, burnt and defiled by the Enemy or abandoned, and the company desired nothing more than to leave the place forever for the safety of Nargothrond. During the Bragollach, the company of Barahir had been forced from their camps at the Fens of Sirion, severed from Finrod's main force. They would have been forced to fight through occupied territory in order to be reunited with the king's forces, and however that might be, Barahir soon learned to his horror that their homeland was under siege. They had no choice but to make their way through the passes home. They could not now return to Nargothrond unless they crossed the mountains of Gorgoroth, and then passed on through Nan Dungortheb, a truly haunted and evil place. The company was too small to face an army or even to venture through such dangerous roads.

The fight to liberate their own soil did not go smoothly. Barahir's army was scattered as his officers took their knights and raced to defend their estates. While a few of them managed to save some of their small folk, many more were overwhelmed or were too late to salvage anything. Barahir summoned all his people to the capitol to make a last stand. They thought they would be safe in Ladros, but they were sorely mistaken. The Enemy was pilfering the villages and burning them to the ground, and Ladros would be no different. Any living thing they found was nullified. The women and children had been sent away and spared only a few days before, including Beren's own mother Emeldir. As the Lady of the Edain, she led them away and was thereafter called the Man-hearted. The Lord of the Edain and his kin made a valiant effort to keep the city, but the defenses broke and the survivors were forced to retreat.

They had been hard pressed by the Enemy ever since and were no doubt being pursued by more. Many men had been slaughtered in the ambush. But now the servants of Morgoth were hunting Beren's folk like wary animals, for they were of the house of Bëor, and this particular house among men was the fiercest and most truehearted of all, making them a threat to the power of Morgoth. They were armed with the knowledge and skill that they learned from the Elves and their pride and courage was great. Each day was a fight for survival among the company that was the only hope for many.

The forest of Dorthonion gave some protection. They could not be easily attacked from the south as the mountains of Lindur barred the way. Stinking marshes awaited any seeking to attack from the north. They need only worry about east and west. Heaths grew about the shores of the lake, and the company had found an underground cave that they might make their hiding. But Beren did not wish to stay in Dorthonion. He believed that the Pass of Anach was not watched, as his father believed. The company had a chance to escape from the wild lands so long as they were speedy enough. They could risk being seen by spies. After all, they had little left to lose.

The remaining men then fell into despair, and even Beren's father was uncertain what to do next. The other survivors, as noble as they may be, had begun to lose their wits. They shouted at one another, even though their little band now seemed to be the only family left to them.

Beren's father stood by his side, sighing wearily.

"Please, my good men," he announced, doing his best to raise his own voice above the others. "We must decide now! Either we remain here and make this our hiding, or we move out and have hope that we find another before the night comes! We all have precious little time."

Some of the men hearkened to his words, but the rest continued arguing.

"You can bicker amongst yourselves until the moon takes its turn in the sky, because you seem not to notice! Soon there may not be a sun, or moon, or stars! The Darkness is falling. We all know that in the darkness, many things may appear, and it is falling upon our lands; the lands that the Elves gave us. It shall fall upon the rest of our kin. Then it shall at last fall upon the Elves themselves, and all our hope will be lost! It will fall upon us before we come to a decision because of your arrogance!"

The men finally became silent.

"Now that you have all been called to attention, stop quarreling and start talking! It seems that the more you try to think, the more terrible your brawls become! The choice is very simple. Are we going to stay here or find another hiding place?"

"Why look for a hiding place at all, father? I thought that we had decided to go and look for any other survivors," Beren said, frowning.

"That was before we were attacked by those Orcs! Look around you, Beren, and count heads! We have only thirteen men, and that is an unlucky number! Do you think we could search for our loved ones and sacrifice even more men? We cannot lose anyone else! Morgoth is hunting us down like beasts! We are all desperate people here, but do not be foolish!"

Beren made some strange contortion with his fist. He had expected his father to say something like this, and it angered him.

"Father," he said, "we cannot live as outlaws. We are of the house of Bëor, and we shall fight rather than live as thralls to Morgoth or slaves to fear, and I at least will fight until we are avenged!"

"So will I!" Baragund and Belegund the twins unsheathed their swords.

The two brothers exchanged glances and Belegund said, "We love our wives and our daughters too much to abandon them!"

"We all lost a wife or child, but we do not even know if they are in any danger at all! At least they shall not suffer our fate."

A flood of voices cried out at this.

"My wife Emeldir will guide them safely. And besides, what aid can we bring them when we are so few?"

Some of the men began to discuss Barahir's point, but Beren bit his lip and glanced at Gorlim with concern. He had also lost his wife, but she was not with the other wives and children. She had been missing long before, either taken captive by the Enemy or slaughtered. Beren was afraid the mentioning of their wives and children had pained him. He had loved his wife more than the waking world and she had been with child. When Gorlim returned from war he found that the house had been ransacked and his wife was lost. He had come back to Beren and his father upon his horse, lamenting that she was gone. He fell from his horse and wailed, and Beren had never seen Gorlim shed a tear before in the presence of man or woman. He wondered what he would do if his mother was truly dead. His father had told him not to dwell on the matter, and Barahir offered little comfort to Gorlim

"Your family is more than likely dead, Gorlim," Barahir had said. "Remember that it is probably better that way. The Enemy is cruel, and your child would have been born into slavery or worse."

His words had been callous and unreasonable. Much of what his father did these days seemed so. He was ailing and no longer the great leader he once was, and Beren found himself wishing that he could take command.

At least then, he thought, I might lead these men out of here rather than sit like sheep waiting for the slaughter. If we wait any longer, we might kill each other in our madness!

But this conversation about the women and children did not seem to interest Gorlim at all. He had not spoken a word, but only drank from his casket of wine that he had brought with him all through the long miles. He caroused himself on wine whenever he had the chance, but it was better that way, and no one could blame him. When he was sober, he was a very disagreeable man.

Radhruin turned to him, "May I take a swig of that?"

"No," Gorlim said rather firmly and put the casket away.

Beren smiled in spite of himself and turned to the other men.

"Listen," Gildor was saying. "We all know what shall become of us if we leave these woods!"

"Of course," Dagnir dragged a finger across his throat. "At least here, we are hidden by these highlands."

Baragund and Belegund, and a few other men broke into a chorus of shouting against his claim. "Protection?" they shouted. "How could we ever be safe from the Enemy?"

"These are untrod lands! Why would anyone come looking for us here? The Enemy is in the dark and far from Angband. They cannot feed their armies forever and waste their supplies searching for thirteen men."

"Grow some sense, Ragnor! Orcs feed upon flesh! They are like hounds on the scent and likely do not wish to return to Angband. They will set fire to everything in their path and search among the rubble and ashes until they have proof that they succeeded in obeying their Master!"

"Stop fighting!"

"Shut your mouth, Gildor!" Ragnor and Belegund said in ironic accordance.

"I do but try to keep the peace!"

"Shall we give you a taste of our wrath?"

Beren shook his head and leaned against a tree as the rest of the company began to shout and curse, and Gorlim did not even flinch when Ragnor and Belegund drew their blades.

"Ho, men!" Barahir stirred at last. "Stop this foolishness at once!"

"Aw, let the men have their fun," said Dairuin bitterly. "They had better kill each other. There shall be much less piping."

Barahir let out a strangled cry and drew his sword. He bore down his sword upon the others and drove them into the ground with one stroke.

"Enough of this! We are men of honor, not a bunch of common Orcs!"

Ragnor and Belegund still eyed each other darkly. Baragund was not content with that, however. Barahir forbid drawn blade, but he had said nothing as yet of fists. He delivered a blow to Ragnor's face. For a moment, they all feared that their numbers were about to dwindle, but Beren shouted for aid and took hold of Ragnor before he could retaliate. He was ten years younger than Ragnor, but he managed to keep him in place.

"The next man that strikes his fellow will go to hell!" he announced and meant it.

"Very well," Ragnor grumbled. "We are all brothers."

The company was calm at last. Barahir shook his head.

"It seems that we have all truly lost our minds!"

"I thought we had all crossed the threshold of insanity long ago," Ragnor snickered and many of the others mumbled their agreement. "What shall we do now? We are at your command."

"We shall cast a vote! Whoever agrees with me that we should remain here, say yea!"

Many of the company hesitated to answer, and Barahir became impatient.

"Any volunteers?"

"We may all need some time to contemplate this decision," Belegund fumbled with his words. "After all, it is a matter of life or death, and death is not something to be taken lightly, so-"

"You know that we have no time to 'contemplate' this matter over!" Barahir snapped. "We shall go along the line! Simply say yea or nay, and do not hesitate! If the majority of the votes turn out to be nay, we must then leave immediately! Do you understand? You can all decide what your choice shall be as I go along the line, because I am starting now! Ragnor, what is your vote?"

"I vote yea!" Ragnor answered, as if on cue.

"Dagnir?"

"Yea!"

"Gildor?"

"Lord, I agree with Belegund that we all deserve a few moments-" Barahir gave Gildor a sharp glance, and he cut himself short. "Um . . . Yea?"

"Baragund, Belegund, I believe your vote is nay?" Barahir inquired in an undertone.

"Indeed."

"No surprises there. Who is next? Oh, of course. Hathaldir? Hathaldir!"

The boy looked up, his eyes wide at his mentioning. "Um, my lord," he said timidly, bowing. "Though I am loyal to you, I must confess that I would rather seek my mother and sister. My vote is nay."

"You may speak your own mind, Hathaldir," Barahir answered, frowning at the boy. "I did not ask you to my service, after all."

"Yet I swore to it! I speak my own desires, but I will obey your commands."

"We all honor your bravery, my boy."

Hathaldir clenched his jaw at the term 'boy'. Beren gave him a glance full of compassion. He was twelve, clearly too young to fight, but he had smuggled himself within Barahir's company. The men wanted to send him away, but when his father fell in battle, Hathaldir was forced to take his father's place. The boy was proficient and the company needed him now, but Beren felt that his father was too stern with him.

"All right. Our vote is four-three. Who is next?"

"I vote that we look for our families!" Urthel cast his vote.

"Four-four! Radhruin?"

"Stay."

"Five-four. It looks like we have a close vote! We are not going anywhere for a while if we all agree half-in-half! Dairuin?"

"I would like to leave this godforsaken place!"

"Five-five! We must all be pretty much divided! Arthad, what is your vote?"

"We do not stand a chance out there!"

"Six-five! Beren?" Barahir turned to his son, who was chewing on a blade of grass. "What is your vote? If you vote that we stay, then we shall have our decision."

"Father, you know better than that. I love my mother, and I would like to be reunited with her."

"All right. Our vote is now six-six. You have all proven to be very difficult men. Something is not right about the math. We have twelve votes, and there are thirteen men here. Who did not vote?"

There was a silence.

Hathaldir scratched his head nervously. "I think it was Gorlim."

All of the men turned to face Gorlim, who had not even heard his name mentioned.

"Well!"

"What are you all looking at?"

The men heaved a sigh at the same time.

"Maybe we should ask when he is sober," Gildor groaned, stowing away inside his blankets.

"We need your vote, Gorlim," Barahir said fiercely. "Do we stay? Do we go?"

"You tell me. You are our leader, your lordship!"

"Then you will go with whatever I say?"

"I am supposed to, am I not, lord?"

"Then the vote is seven-six. We are staying here!"

A few men clapped, the others voiced their opinions, and Beren was one of these. Barahir waved his hand and began walking away; clearly he would brook no argument. Beren felt the anger rise in him and sprang after him. Barahir saw him stumbling after him and continued walking.

"Father!"

"Still calling me that? I am surprised. I have heard you speaking ill of me loudly and often."

"That was not a fair vote," Beren hollered. "Gorlim did not vote!"

"He did not have to vote. The decision is mine alone to make. I only wanted everyone's opinion. We are remaining here. I trust your mother over the swords of thirteen unpredictable men."

"Then I shall take with me those that love their wives and children, and we shall part ways."

Beren knew he did not have a right to say such a thing to his father, and Barahir's eyes flashed.

"I love your mother, and I also love my only child. That is you, Beren."

"Then I shall take those that have the courage to find their families," he continued to be rebellious.

"I am the lord of the Edain, and I am also your father. To break our fellowship now would be the most rash thing you could do when the Orcs could be on the other side of the lake."

"I feel it is the wisest thing we could do."

"You have been stubborn since you were a child, Beren, but that is my fault. Now, please, my son, listen to my command: Stay here with me. Before we can find your mother, we must first stay alive!"

"But, father, my mother and the women and children with her are in as much danger as we are. She has the blood of the Bëor in her, but what of the small folk? Do you expect children and old men to fend for themselves in the wild, Orcs or no Orcs?"

"We shall not speak of these matters until we ourselves are in safe lands, understood?"

"I shall obey, lord," Beren said icily.

"If I had the men and weapons, I would be tearing through the trees, harrowing up the mountains, and cutting down everything in my path to know your mother truly is safe, but I do not."

"I understand, father."

"Soon enough, I may be killed in battle, and you shall take up the lordship of the Edain, and you might not be so glad to have it once it burdens you as much as it does me. I promise you, Beren: Once we are no longer fugitives, we shall search for your mother side-by-side."

Barahir patted his son on the shoulder and turned away. Beren sat upon the grass. Then he got up and sat beside Gorlim.

"Give me your sword so that I may hone it for you," the man said with a hint of merriment. "And then I want to see you use it, you are becoming hairier than a bear!"

"Speak for yourself!"

Gorlim's hair had become long and tangled hopelessly. Beren doubted that the knots could ever be combed out. While Beren had stubble, Gorlim had a mature beard and mustache.

"Why did you not vote?" he demanded.

"Beren," he answered. "Whatever happens, we are all doomed. Even if the vote had turned out otherwise, your father would not have risked such a chase."

"Unfortunately you are right. He told me as much. Even so I expected you to back me. Some friend you are."

"Why joust your venom at me, Beren? You are angry at your father, not I."

"What do you know of it?"

"I know enough. All our lives we have been friends. I know that you still hate him. You call him father but even a blind man can see the tension between the two of you."

"Why should I feel tender feelings for him? He remained in Nargothrond while I was a babe far longer than King Finrod demanded. He never sent messages to us, and when he returned, it was only to take me to Nargothrond to be fostered. He has abandoned my mother once again."

"I cannot speak for your father," Gorlim replied. "Perhaps he had his reasons for dwindling overlong in Nargothrond. Maybe he felt it would be safer for his family if he remained distant. Maybe he felt he had been gone so long he could not possibly redeem himself in your eyes. Have you ever forgiven him?"

"I have mixed feelings. I watch him with other men. The Edain follow him willingly and cheer his name. I cannot help but admire that. Yet he jokes so easily with them and speaks to me half the time with the voice of a lord not of a father."

"Your father loves you, Beren. Anyone can see that. You refuse to see it because you want to blame him."

"What of you? You have abandoned all reason! You who do not grieve for a wife dead!"

Gorlim said in a harsh whisper, "Eilinel is not dead! And I shall do what I must to prove that to you!" He suddenly pulled him toward him and embraced him. "Do not be angry with your father," he said. "At least you have one- if only for a little while."

Beren awoke from an uneasy sleep to the sound of voices in the middle of the night. He walked toward the voices and saw that it was Gorlim and Hathaldir. Beren wondered why Gorlim was awake. It was not his turn to take watch. He listened intently to what was being said.

"No, Gorlim," Hathaldir said. "No! I told you. It is my duty as the watcher to raise an alarm if there is trouble. You need your rest. Our lord demands it, and you will get me into quite a fix of trouble if you were to suddenly disappear during the middle of the night."

"Then might I take watch?"

"No, you cannot take the watch. It isn't your turn."

"I shall take up your watch. I am next anyway."

"You're not supposed to take guard at all tonight so stop trying to trick me. I may be the youngest of the company, but I am no child and I am not stupid!"

"Listen, Hathaldir. You can tell them that I fought you and left you lying here for dead."

"Gorlim, now- What are you doing!"

Gorlim drew his sword.

"All right! All right! Put it away, Gorlim!" their voices became less easy to hear. "I know that, but- Of course I love my mother and sister. Why not go after them? Well . . . All right. I see your point."

Beren strained his ears. Clearly, Gorlim was thanking the boy, and then he mounted his horse.

"Stop where you are, Gorlim!" Beren stepped out of the shadows, and Gorlim halted his horse sharply. "Where are you going?"

"You know quite well where I am going to."

Beren was afraid he knew exactly. He was leaving them to search for his wife. Gorlim was the most hardened and fiercest of their company. Eilinel had been dearer to him than aught else. His service to his lord was duty, his family was dead to him, and he had few friends. Only Beren, and he was his father's heir. Though much time had passed, and the odds were against it, he still doubted that Eilinel was dead. He would go from time to time to search for her when he could. He had asked Barahir's leave to go on another search for Eilinel moments before the Orcs had attacked, for Gorlim was convinced that this time, he would find his wife. But Barahir had been against it. It was too perilous for Gorlim, too perilous for the company, and they were in sore need of every man they had. There had been many times when Gorlim spoke out against Barahir to criticize and humiliate him as if in revenge and many of the company either pitied him or became bitter toward him because of that.

"We all want to search for our women and children, but I must agree with my father. We must not separate."

"You certainly have changed since our last talk!" Gorlim said in shock.

"My rebellion ceases when I realize that I could be endangering my kinsmen," Beren answered darkly.

"I will only be gone for a few days."

"But you have already gone looking for Eilinel. You did not find her, remember?"

"Nor did he find a body," Hathaldir blurted out.

"Hathaldir!"

"Y-Yes, lord?" he stammered, fearing retribution.

"Go to bed."

"Yes, lord," he bowed.

Beren patted the boy on the head as he passed by him, then he said, "Poor Hathaldir. He should be with his mother and his sister, not with us. He wanted to fight, and not even his own father could stop him."

"He reminds me of someone I once knew. He has a courageous heart, like yours."

Gorlim kicked his horse, but Beren grabbed onto the horse's bit.

"Gorlim, you know that you should not go and that the servants of Morgoth could be lying in wait for you, if they truly have your wife."

"And I shall be more than willing to fight them off and claim her. Now, let me go! And if you truly love your mother, you can go after her too. Your father may be our lord, but I judge that will not be for long, and you are his heir. You can do whatever your heart tells you, and my heart refuses to stay here and wait in a hole like rats to be slaughtered at last."

Beren sighed. Now I know somewhat how my father feels!

"But if the servants of Morgoth catch you," he said, "they will try to deceive you, and they will find us. Then you shall have killed us all, and your honor and soul shall be forfeit."

"I do not know so much about my soul, but I spit on honor. What is honor compared to Eilinel safe at my side, and our son's laughter in my ears? As for all of you, you should flee from this cursed place. You have my vote now. If Barahir still commands the company to hide, then there is no honor in him either. To disregard his men's better judgment is not honorable."

"You will be captured and slain!"

"Perhaps when you fall in love as fatally as I have, you will also take such chances."

"I doubt it. I am not such a fool. Now get down from your horse, Gorlim!"

"No! Let go of my horse, or I shall fight you!"

Gorlim drew his sword, and at last, Beren gave up. He went for his sword at first. He knew that he could defeat Gorlim. He had received the better marks as a swordsman, and when the two dueled, Beren was usually the winner. But something in him made him stop. It was pity, pity and trust. He trusted Gorlim not to let himself fall into the Enemy's hands, and even if he did, he would never betray his kin. The Enemy had already caused him the greatest pain they could cause him.

He let go of Gorlim's horse.

"May Elbereth protect you, my friend," he said.

Gorlim hesitated at this, and he smiled and said, "May the Valar bless you and smile upon you from afar. You seem always to be standing within their light."

"Or their shadow," Beren retorted.

Then Gorlim bolted off into the shadows, and Beren never saw him again as a living man. He went back to his blankets, troubled. Then the boy Hathaldir sat next to him unlooked for.

"What is it that troubles such a young heart?" Beren asked. "When I told you to sleep, I was not asking you to do so. I gave you an order."

"I cannot sleep. My thoughts are of my mother and my dear little sister, Vanwa. She was only four summers old, my lord. I was thinking of them while I was on watch, and when Gorlim began to leave, I stopped him. He told me he was going away for a while, and he begged me not to raise an alarm. When he told me he could not bear the pain of being parted with his wife, I yielded not because of the sword in his hand, but because I realized that I could relate to his pain. I was thinking of my sister. Vanwa was very playful and sweet. I miss her and my mother."

Beren smiled, thinking of the mother that he had not seen since he had left to be fostered.

"Believe me, Hathaldir. We can all understand Gorlim's plight. We have all shared in that pain."

"Lord, I must remind you that Gorlim did draw his sword on me. If I had not let him go, he was going to-"

"I understand completely," Beren said gently. "Even if you had set off the alarm, Gorlim would have dashed off like a hare. You would not have been able to stop him by yourself. Gorlim is a renowned knight at Finrod's court, one of our finest. Now please sleep! In no doubt, we shall have a lot of explaining to do when the others wake."

The boy returned to his resting place, but Beren had an uneasy sleep. The words that Gorlim had said to him: Perhaps when you fall in love as fatally as I have, you shall also take such chances. The words seemed to linger over him like some kind of curse. He knew that Gorlim was very foresighted for a Man, and he thought of his dream, the strange dream that he had of the Sea and of that Elvin-maid beside him named Tinúviel. Beren shook these thoughts away. He did not understand Gorlim. He knew he was risking his life and the whole company's. He was a fool, and if his father and the company denied him and cast him forth from the land when he returned and admitted that Eilinel was dead, no one could blame them.

"What do you mean Gorlim left!" Barahir cried the next day when he heard that Gorlim had left that night.

Ragnor threw off his blankets and sprang from the ground where he had been happily snoring. "What?"

"It is true, my lord," Hathaldir could not lie. "Gorlim son of Angrim begged me to leave while I was on the watch last night. I know that it was my duty to raise the alarm and force Gorlim to stay, but he begged me, and the lord Beren himself gave him his leave."

"Treacherous bastard!" Ragnor rasped. "I doubt he is truly searching for his wife. He is simply a coward."

"Gorlim is no coward and certainly not a liar!" Beren said.

"Do not worry," Barahir said. "He shall return soon enough."

But Gorlim did not return. A month had passed, and there was no sign of him. There was much unease in the company. They were wondering whether they should abandon the hiding or not. They took council on this.

"If Gorlim has been caught, then we are all dead!" Ragnor said.

"If they find our hiding empty, they might think us already dead," Gildor suggested.

"If they find it empty, they shall only think us fled!" Baragund answered. "Are you a fool! They will not stop hunting us until they have trampled our bones into the dust!"

The others began cursing. Many of them blamed Hathaldir. "If you had only stopped him!" they shouted.

"Let the boy alone!" Beren commanded.

"This does not concern you!" they said to him and then turned on Hathaldir. "Why have you condemned us all?"

"I believed Gorlim had a good reason to leave us, and I also decided that I should let the lord Beren handle it," the boy answered angrily. "There were also other reasons. We all know what he feels, and he is not a man to disagree with! He was not at all too polite when he asked me his leave without so much alarm. He held his sword in his hand, for the love of Ilúvatar! He would have used it too, no doubt! First he begged me, and when I remained in doubt, he threatened me. I had no choice but to let him leave."

"The boy is nothing but a coward!" Arthad growled, casting him aside, but the others cast their angry glances upon Beren.

"Beren, is it true what the boy has said? That you also knew of Gorlim's leaving and did little to stop him?" Barahir asked him, taking no notice that Hathaldir had been hurt.

"Yes," Beren answered undaunted. "Hathaldir does not lie, and he would not have been able to stop Gorlim either if he asked him to keep quiet with a sword! Do you not agree? We all know how desperate Gorlim can become."

Some of the company muttered and nodded in agreement.

"Gorlim is going to get us all killed, and he knows it!" Ragnor bellowed, being the most ill tempered of the company. "If I get my hands on him, I'll kill him!"

"We shall have no such talk!" Barahir snapped. "The Enemy has done well enough to diminish our kinsmen. Morgoth may have that man in keeping and shall do the job for you, and he was one of the greatest fighters here!"

Ragnor shut his mouth.

"The best we can do, men, is send someone out to scout the lands. If there are Orcs nearby, it means that Gorlim has been caught. Who will be our messenger?"

No one in the company raised their hands save Beren and, surprisingly, Hathaldir. They all laughed at him.

"Hathaldir, you would be brave enough to venture forth on this errand?" Barahir asked. "It is very perilous."

"I want to be of use to the company, and I care for Gorlim."

"You shall not go!" Beren stepped out of line. "Father, if you must send someone, send me. I am the fastest runner and the most skilled in these matters. My woodcraft surpasses all those here. Besides, Hathaldir is much too young to go."

Barahir looked upon his son with pride, but also with concern. Beren could be killed on this certain errand, and it would be a sore blow to him and the company to lose his son, for Beren was the greatest fighter among them and was also his only heir.

"No. You shall not go, Beren," he told him and then turned to the rest of the company. "Do none of you have the courage to take up this quest? Ragnor? Gildor?"

Beren's mouth gaped open at the rejection. Baragund and Belegund raised their hands reluctantly and said that they would go if no one else would be sent. Hathaldir insisted that he would be the man for the job, but Ragnor, who was always harsh with the boy, pushed him aside.

"Father," Beren tried again. "Send me. I am the most skilled huntsman here. I promise you that I shall not allow myself to be killed easily, and never has any man or Orc or other set one of the house of Bëor in bonds! My woodcraft shall guide me, and my journey will end without so much dramatics. If you send one of the others here, you could very well regret it. It would be the breaking of our company if one of these fine men were to be unfortunate upon this errand. Send me!"

"Very well, son," Barahir granted his request very reluctantly. "I give you my blessing. Be careful, and keep on guard!"

"Yes, lord."

"No, lord!" Hathaldir said desperately. "Let me go!"

"No, Hathaldir. You are needed here."

"Good luck, Beren," Belegund and Baragund said in farewell.

Then Beren left upon the road while the whole company waved in farewell. Hathaldir ran behind Beren, calling out to him and gripping his sword, as though ready for battle, until Beren had to stop and speak harshly to him, telling him to return to the company and that the errand he had taken was too perilous for him.

"You began fighting the day you turned fifteen, lord!" the boy said bitterly. "Why not a young man like me?"

"You are a boy," Beren corrected.

"I want to fight for you, lord. You cannot say that I am too young! Youths have ambition, and that is what we all need now. Our wits have long been missed, and it is my dream to fight for my kinsmen."

"What we all need is more arms and more men! Now return to the others. Would you know what to do if your enemies surrounded you suddenly and you had no weapon? Do you know anything about the Orcs?"

Hathaldir did not answer.

"That is what I thought! You are young and inexperienced in the arts of battle, and you are not a man yet! I came early to manhood because I had to! Return to the others and follow me no more!"

The boy was silent afterward. He simply bowed and returned then to the others, near tears, but Beren could not repent for his words, and he never had the chance.

Gorlim let out a deep sigh. He could see the outline of his house from where he stood, ankle-deep in a slimy moor. His searching always brought him here, his feet walking the familiar path. There was little hope that he would find Eilinel there, but the place stirred happier memories and made him feel at ease. His home was far from impressive. Though he was of Bëor's line, his kinship was not inherited from father to son. His father had died in Gorlim's youth, and he had little to pass on to his family. It was a small house, once cozy, but the elements had not been kind to the little wooden structure. The roof of moor reeds and sticks was almost completely shredded by the wind.

He remembered Eilienl's look upon her face when she had seen the house on their wedding night. Gorlim had feared she would be disappointed with it. She was a woodcutter's daughter and probably dreamed that she would be taken to a grand castle when she had accepted his proposal. But she had been quite satisfied with it. They had lived contentedly within those walls. The last time he had seen Eilinel was in this place. She had told him with exhilaration that their baby inside her belly was kicking. Their baby was eager to come out into the world. The child would have been born by now, if it and the mother were still alive.

Suddenly, Gorlim halted and stared with an amazed look upon his face. There was a light in one of the windows. He muttered to himself, debating whether or not this was a trap. Then he heard the wail of a babe, and his heart raced. At last, he hesitantly made his way towards the window and peered through it.

And there was Eilinel.

She was weeping, and her voice lamented off the walls as though she was far away, or as though she were part of a dream.

"Gorlim! Gorlim!" she wailed. "You fool! You have forsaken me and our babe for a lordling and false hope! Morgoth shall find you, and you shall all be dead, while I yet live. I wait only for my turn, and for the death of our son. He has come, but you have not. It seems that he was only born to be thrown into the pits of Angband when the Enemy finds me here, alone. You never loved me, and our child that I bear is nothing to you!"

Gorlim had enough. He ran to her, calling to her, "No, I have always loved you and our babe! I never doubted that you were alive, and now, here I am! I have abandoned Barahir. I will never leave you again!"

The moment that he stepped in through the door, the firelight was snuffed out. Gorlim strained to see in the dark. He realized that there had been Orcs and Men hiding behind doors and in the corners of the house. Eilinel was gone, and the baby was silent. Gorlim had fallen into a trap; yet the trap had not been unexpected. The hunters seized him. He saw a few Orcs carrying something away from the house, and he thought that it must be Eilinel and his son. He cried out and struggled desperately and was stricken into darkness.

When he awoke, he realized that the surroundings had changed. He was no longer standing in his house, but within a ring of men. They were barbarians, and they wore red robes. Gorlim stood in the middle of their circle, and he had been beaten unmercifully and had lost all his strength, but there seemed to be no fear in his eyes.

"Where is my family?"

"Where is your hiding!" demanded one of the hunters.

Gorlim stared at him blankly.

"We had heard rumors that a man of the Men of Dorthonion often returned to this land in search of his wife," said another, and he had a pleasant voice. "You must tell us exactly where the hiding is."

"I will not betray my kinsmen," Gorlim answered in a strong voice. "But I will tell you that you men are traitors to your own kind and give your service to the very essence of evil. Ilúvatar shall have vengeance upon you."

"Speak not of Ilúvatar! He shall not come down to save you with fire from heaven!" said the man harshly, but he softened his voice again, "Gorlim? That is your name, of course?"

He made no response.

"Do you deny it? Or are you Barahir or his son, Beren?"

"No. I am Gorlim son of Angrim."

"Now I shall tell you my name so that we shall know each other more intimately. After all, I could very well save your life."

"Yes, but for what purpose? It is not my life that I want."

"If you do not tell us where the hiding is, we shall put you through pain of torture. Tell us now, and we shall show you mercy and set you free and even reward you richly. After all, we are Men, not Orcs. The Master always shows mercy to those who serve him."

"I do not serve him and never shall."

Again, Gorlim was put into the circle. He was scarred and bruised all over, and he was missing several fingers.

"Are you prepared to give us the information we asked for?"

Gorlim never let one whisper pass his lips, even during torture. The hunters then grew tired of him and handed him straightway over to Sauron, Morgoth's most terrible servant. Gorlim was tortured even there in his presence, and Sauron watched while eating his bread. Then Sauron had Gorlim stand before his throne, and he offered him food. Gorlim refused it, but Sauron sneered when his stomach rumbled. He had not eaten for many days.

"You will not take my bread?"

"No. I will receive nothing from you."

"Why must you be so uncooperative?" he asked. "Do you not know that the pain can stop before it is even started? Tell me where your companions lay, and you shall feel no more!"

"Never!"

Sauron laughed grimly. "Your valiance amuses me," he said, "but your courage is made in vain. I promise that if you were to tell me where the hiding is, I shall grant you not only your freedom, but gold and whatever else your heart desires."

"You do not know my desire, nor can you give it," Gorlim answered.

Gorlim's only desire was to be reunited with his wife, and he did not tell Sauron this.

Then Sauron was angry and said, "Take him back to the Balrogs! You shall soon tell me all your desire! Soon, you shall be singing, and you shall tell me even where your dear old grandmother lives to be free of the pain I will give you! But, Gorlim, if you ever wish to give me an answer, just call my name. Out loud."

"My grandmother is dead," Gorlim said flatly. "And I swore an oath that I would remain faithful to my lord."

Gorlim was returned to the pits and still, he did not call on Sauron and did not complain when he bore the pain of the whip. But at the last, Sauron discovered his longing. He brought Gorlim into his halls again, for the last time, as though he were an honored guest. He spoke softly, and would have sweetened his voice, if it were possible for a creature like him.

"This is the last time that I shall ask, since torture seems only to numb you," Sauron said. "Where is the Men of Dorthonion's hiding?"

Gorlim did not answer at once. This was indeed his last chance, and he did not wish to be too bold now. If he were killed, then Eilinel and the child would certainly be slaughtered too. But would they be murdered anyway?

Sauron saw the torment in his eyes and promised, "You shall be rewarded for the information. I vow that I shall restore your wife and child to you. Two lives shall be given for many, and all three of you shall be free to leave this place and go wherever you so please."

Gorlim hesitated. "Show me Eilinel and my child," he said.

"Tell us first, or we shall show you to them, but the child shall pay with his life for your doubt!"

Gorlim was silent for a long while, then he told Sauron where the hiding was, weeping. Then Sauron laughed outright.

"You wish to see your wife and son now?"

"Yes!"

Sauron raised his hand, and Eilinel appeared. She was no more than a wisp of smoke: a phantom. Then he produced a bundle from his cloak. Swaddling clothes was all that it was. Gorlim gasped.

"Yes. A trick of wizardry," Sauron nodded. "I remember that months ago my scouts brought a mortal woman. She died during torture. She did not have quite the stamina that you have shown. The man-child that she had I never saw. Apparently, the brat made too much noise and was killed during the confusion of her taking. I am truly sorry. He might have made a good slave. If he could take half the pain that you have endured, he would have lasted for years under backbreaking work."

Gorlim was speechless.

"I want to thank you, Gorlim. You have done well." He turned to his servants, "He may yet be reunited with his wife! Take him to her!"

Gorlim felt as though he had been hit with a blow. He let out a cry so horrible that Sauron covered his ears and shouted to his servants to shut him up. They held him fast, and then one of the servants drew out a knife and slashed his throat.

Beren was far afield from the hiding, and although he still was in Dorthonion, the sun was setting, and he fell asleep. And then Beren had a horrible dream. He found himself back near the lake of Tarn Aeluin. The waters reflected only darkness, and lightning flashed along the sky. Beren gazed about in wonder. In his dream, he seemed much more acute than he ever could be awake. Beren felt rather than sensed the presence of unfriendly eyes all around him, and he saw that there was a great flock of carrion birds; unusually large, black birds sitting in the branches of dead meres all around him. Beren saw that something was dripping from their beaks as they all stared at him with cold and menacing eyes. Whatever it was dripped and splattered upon a few stones. Beren looked closer and saw that it was blood. He felt his stomach churn, and he backed away from the stones.

Beren turned towards the waters and fell backwards in his shock. The waters of Tarn Aeluin were no longer blue, but red with blood. It was blood. There was blood everywhere.

Then Beren drew his sword and saw Gorlim, but he was not the same. He was robed in gloomy gray, and he had drawn over his head a hood, and he was illuminated in a strange light.

"Gorlim! What has happened to you?" Beren cried, springing to his feet, and then he asked, "Where am I?"

"Do not ask me to state the obvious, Beren. You are no fool," Gorlim answered.

"But you are not real."

"I am as real as real can be."

"If you were real, I could touch you."

"Do not try!"

Beren reached out to touch him, but Gorlim pushed him away, and his touch was cold as ice.

"Aye Elbereth!" Beren gasped. "But, why are you here?"

"The traitor betrayed has come to warn you."

"Traitor betrayed? Why are you speaking in riddles?"

Gorlim was silent for a long while, and then he withdrew his hood so that Beren could see a long ugly scar around his neck where his throat had been slashed. He fell on his knees in shock.

"Alas!" he cried. "How did this happen, Gorlim?"

"For their sake, I must be brief."

He stooped and dipped his finger into the waters of the lake. The ripples spread across the waters of blood. Then he told his tale.

Gorlim had the greatest look of pain on his face. "I would have drawn back, Beren," he said desperately. "I really would have. I was loyal to your father and all the rest of the company, but I longed to be free of pain. I also desired my wife and the son I never knew."

"No…" Beren shook his head.

"Sauron has sent his hunters here already. They are coming near the hiding, Beren. You must warn them and get them out of there before they are murdered as I was! Please! I am a mere ghost that wants to undo what I have done so that I may be able to rest in peace again."

"But I am only dreaming!" Beren answered. "How do I know you are real or that I am not going altogether mad?"

"You will know. You know already, but when you wake," Gorlim answered grimly, taking a few steps back, "you shall spy a carrion bird. If those little signs do not convince you, then all you need do is return to your hiding and smell the blood."

Beren shivered and said, "What if I am too late?"

"Then all is lost. I do not know, really. But go now, before the night is ended and the Orcs have run out of time to complete their work. Awake now! The butchers are coming! Morgoth's grip is tightening about your father's throat, and only you can warn him!"

"But, Gorlim-"

"No time! Wake up! Wake up! The Orcs are already too near the hiding! You must go now and warn your father!"

"Gorlim, I want to say-"

"Sh," Gorlim put a finger to his lips. He actually smiled as he stepped back into the waters.

Beren did not have time to tell Gorlim that he had been a good friend to him all his life, or that he forgave him of his treachery. He knew that Gorlim had endured more pain than most mortals could take. Beren did not even have time to say his last farewell, for Gorlim drew a hood over his face and disappeared.

Beren awoke from the dream. He decided he could not question it. He had to return to his father and his companions. If it was true that Orcs were about to waylay them, Beren could not stay where he was pondering what the wraith had told him. For when he woke, he saw a carrion bird sitting in a tree above his head. It was a rather large and peculiar bird, Beren thought, as he gazed at it.

The bird was coal black, and he had a tuft of white feathers upon his breast. The bird strutted toward him on the branch, and it gave him a piercing glance that froze his blood, for the bird's eyes were empty voids, except for two pale gleams in the pit of the abyss. It croaked at Beren and flapped its wings and took flight, joining a fleet of its own kind in the sky above. Beren then was stricken, knowing this to be a sign to the proof of his dream. But Beren gaped at the birds.

"Could this be true?" he said to himself. "Could this be true?"

The same bird that Beren had seen first let out a cry, and the whole fleet of birds suddenly dove at him. Yes it was the same one. Beren could recognize it because that bird had a tuft of white feathers upon his breast. Beren ducked as the birds flew over him, screamed at him, and headed in the direction of the hiding. Beren stared after them, and then realized that the night was growing old. Soon, the stars would be gone, and the Orcs would make their way toward the hiding at the time they were asleep. Beren would have to race the sun if he was to warn his kinsmen in time.

Beren then ran with all the speed he could muster, crying out aloud to heaven.

"Oh ye that rule the skies and earth! Do not let it be true! Protect my kinsmen! They are all that is left to me, and without them I am forsaken. Protect them! Do not let this be true!"

He did not stop running, even though his heart was racing and his legs were throbbing. He raced against the rising sun. He ran through thickets and hedges, being rewarded with many scratches and bruises, but he was in need of haste. If he arrived after the sun, his father, his other kinsmen; all of his companions would certainly be dead.

Beren at last arrived to the hiding. He ran and called out at the top of his lungs, "Father! My lord! We must leave now! Gorlim has been caught and was deceived! The Orcs are coming! The Orcs are-"

Beren slipped on a patch of wet mud and went rolling down the hill; receiving many more cuts and bruises from the jagged rocks and thorn brambles on his way. He brought up a great storm of cursing, but when at last he stopped rolling and the dust had settled, he raised his hand to wipe sweat from his brow and saw it was covered with dark blood. He let out a strangled cry and sprang to his feet. A flock of carrion birds scattered about. It was the same flock that he had seen, the same one. They had beaten him to the bodies.

Beren choked back unmanly tears. Instead, he lashed out at the birds.

"Vipers!" he cried, running into the sea of birds and kicking at them. "Leave the dead in peace! Feast upon the carcasses of beasts or eat the dust, but do not discard the bodies of my kinsmen! They are not beasts but were once noble men! I said shoo! Go on! Get out of here!"

The birds screamed at him in protest and took flight, but one last bird remained, and he had a tuft of white feathers on his breast. For the moment, he was unnoticed, for Hathaldir the young came stumbling out of the cave.

"My lord?" he called in a thin voice.

"Hathaldir?" Beren was glad to see him still alive. He was glad to see someone alive. "Merciful Manwë! What happened to you?"

"My lord! My lord! You have come! I had hoped you would!"

The boy suddenly stumbled, and Beren caught him and was covered with more blood. Hathaldir had not gone without hurt. Beren soon knew that Hathaldir was wounded mortally.

"Alas! I have come too late! Too late!"

"I beg that you do not shake me, lord!" cried the boy in agony. "Or I will join the others all the sooner!"

Beren held him gently, "Was it Orcs?"

Hathaldir nodded and gritted his teeth and the newly risen sun shone on his face.

"They surprised us all. They left me for dead, but they have done their job well enough. They chopped off your father's hand, Beren. Kept it for heaven knows what. Is Gorlim dead?"

"It was his ghost that sent me back so soon, but too late! Too late!"

"There was nothing you could have done, lord. I fought with all the strength I had. It availed to nothing. An Orc drove me through with his cleaver. I must know. Did Gorlim find his wife?"

"His search was in vain. Eilinel was killed during the siege. But now, they are together."

Hathaldir closed his eyes and murmured, "And his child?"

Beren could not answer. The murder of Gorlim's son had been a monstrous, tasteless act. The boy understood.

"I see. This is all my fault."

Beren was shocked. "Your fault?"

"I should have raised the alarm on Gorlim and never listened to his begging. My fault . . . And it was always my dream to help and fight in gallant battle with my lord. I never wanted to be the cause that destroyed my kinsmen."

"Hathaldir, you, I hold least to blame for all of this," Beren said gravely. "Alas! The innocents are the ones that suffer and bear the guilt in the end! Besides, you got your wish. You shall die valiantly for the survival of your kinsmen and your lord, and you were only a child."

Hathaldir's eyes snapped open and he said, "I am not a child! I am a man!"

"You are a boy."

"So you say."

"You were a boy," Beren said, smiling. "But today you die a man. You die a soldier's death. You die as a jewel among all men!"

"Yes, Lord," Hathaldir groaned, but he was not speaking to Beren. He was speaking to someone unseen. He was shivering violently, but then he closed his eyes and remained still.

Beren held Hathaldir's body and fought wails. He shook the boy, hoping that he would still be alive, but Hathaldir remained cold and limp in his hands. Then the carrion bird that had stayed and watched croaked in melancholy, but to Beren, it sounded like mockery.

"Ha! Beren has come too late!" is what he heard.

"Too late! Too late! Ha ha!" echoed the others.

He looked up sharply and threw a stone at the bird. It let out a harsh cry and sought protection on another branch, but Beren threw another stone at it, and it hit its mark. The bird almost fell from its perch and cried out in pain.

"Get out of here!" Beren shouted, and his eyes were lit with a vengeful fire that never left his eyes in his years of wandering. The bird cocked its head and at last flew away.

Then Beren buried his companions' bones. He did so without tears, for his heart was cold as ice. They had been his family, and their death had been cruel. But he did not remain long digging shallow graves for each of the twelve men. He wanted to pursue those Orcs that had done this. He buried his father's bones, and he raised a cairn of boulders above him. There had been some strife between father and son, but all that was forgiven now.

Beren reached for the twelfth body and realized that there was no twelfth body. Gorlim's corpse had probably been thrown into a pit to feed the monsters there. And where was Gorlim now?

Will he let me be? Beren wondered. Do ghosts continue to haunt you forever? And I could not even carry out his last wish. Not even a man back from the grave could help me succeed in saving my family.

Then Beren swore over his father's grave an oath of vengeance upon the murderers of his kin and their master Morgoth. Thus began his wandering, lost of senses and purpose. Beren only knew that he could not stay in the lands of Dorthonion. There was no protection there anymore. The Orcs had usurped the wild heaths and poisoned the waters of Tarn Aeluin, and they could return there at any time.

As Beren looked into the waters of Tarn Aeluin, which had been blue as the sky in the fairest of weather, the holy waters, he saw that the waters were now red with blood, and all about the torn heaths and the dead meres were carrion birds, and there stood that familiar bird with the tuft of white feathers, and from his beak dripped blood.

And that image remained with Beren to the end of his days.

Beren wandered over fen and field and mountain, until at last he found himself in Rivil's Well, tracking the Orcs that had murdered his kinsmen, for now, a rage had come upon him that consumed him and all else. While he was walking upon the pass of the Fen of Serech, he saw not far away smoke rising into the air. This aroused his curiosity, and because he was a cunning hunter, he managed to creep up near one of the fires. He recognized all too well the sort of people that were camping there that huddled near the fires under shade of rock and stone.

These Orcs were in no doubt the same that had gone upon the foray that murdered his kinsmen. They had been caught under the sunlight and would not dare to leave their post until nightfall. Beren felt anger rise up in him such as he had never felt before in all his life. He fingered for his sword. He had wanted to lash out at them all, but Beren was not mad enough to challenge a whole army of Orcs alone. He only listened to what they said, for Beren knew the Orc-speech.

They were singing and roasting meat upon the fire, which was most likely man's-flesh. Orcs ate man-flesh whenever they could get it and several of Beren's companions had been butchered and mutilated. Whole limbs had been carried off, and it was not due to wild animals. The Orcs began laughing.

"The Big Boss will at last be happy," said a large, rather gaudy-looking Orc, for he wore golden chain mail that had most likely been stolen. "Now that Barahir and his folk are gone, there shall no longer be any rebellion from Men, or at least, there shall be much decline of it in Dorthonion."

"But we were ordered to search among the bodies not only for that of Barahir, but also for his son, Beren," another Orc said. "No one reported him dead. He could still be alive in these lands watching us now. I have heard that he is worse than his father was, and after the surprise we left him, there shall be no doubt about it that his love for us will be much less."

"Even if he is alive, which he couldn't be, he is no longer a threat to the Big Boss anymore," the larger Orc said knowledgeably. "How do you know that we did not kill him? We seldom get any detailed descriptions of whom to kill."

"They did tell us how many bodies we should find. There was someone missing."

"Maybe he was taken by an animal, or a sickness, or one of our other lads! If Beren is around, he no longer has any followers. He has no power anymore. He was only a mortal and just one man. And I, being captain, know that we shall all be rewarded for my great deeds!"

Many of the lesser Orcs scowled, but they did not dare to protest.

"See here! This will make me rich!"

The Orc captain laughed and held out a human hand, and Beren recognized the ring that was upon one of its fingers. It was the ring of Finrod; the one his father had been given by the Elvin-king himself.

"This is really what we were after. The Master commanded me to bring it back to him as evidence that we had done the deed. No bodies, only this. But now I think I will keep it as a trophy, for he has a hoard of such treasures! It is a pretty thing, and I am sure that it is worth a good sum," the Orc boasted.

Then Beren, angered as a wave from the sea, sprang from behind a few rocks and pulled the Orc captain with him into the shadows and carried him off. He had already thought that he had gone beyond rage when he spotted the Orcs, but he knew that now he had snapped.

The other Orcs were startled and gave out a great cry. One spotted Beren running amongst the trees and raised the alarm. The Orcs began firing their arrows, but none of them harmed Beren. Their aim was poor, and Beren had a much greater doom upon his head than to be killed by Orc-arrows. He had slipped off as hardily as he could, and the sun was high in the sky so that they could not give chase.

Beren set down the Orc captain. He cried out and shielded his eyes from the sun. Beren laughed grimly and seized from him his father's hand and the ring.

"Now you are cooked!" Beren said, still laughing. "Perhaps I should leave you out here in the sun and let you bake slowly to death?"

"Please! Ah! The dratted sun!" the Orc cursed.

"I would not be worried about the sun," Beren said. "Enjoy the sunlight while you can, my friend. I am in no hurry."

The Orc tried to escape, but Beren cut him off with a spring and gave him a savage kick that caused him to sprawl upon the earth.

"Go on and bury yourself in the dirt if you are so desperate to hide yourself from the sun."

"What are you going to do?"

"I am going to murder you. That is what I am going to do," Beren answered.

"Is that so?"

"You killed my father, you filthy slime!" he hissed, and the Orc saw his death in his eyes. "Were you the one that gave him the death blow? Were you the one that took his hand?"

"Yes," the Orc answered with unmistakable pride.

"Did you think that the son of Barahir would not fend for the murderers of his house and those that discard their bodies?"

"I knew you were a coward, Beren. That is why you seized me and dragged me here so that you could kill me silently. You are quite safe here and therefore refuse to fight."

"How did you guess my name?" Beren said mockingly, drawing his sword and driving it into the ground near the Orc's foot, startling him. "I thought the Man was dead like the other foul rebels! Were not those your words? And if we speak of cowards, I must say only a craven would surprise a small company of men in their sleep or kill a young boy."

"You mentioned that Barahir was your father, and you and your father and all your men are more trouble than you are worth."

Beren sneered and began sharpening his blade, which he had named Dagmor or 'Dark Slayer'. The Orc was not afraid of death and only laughed at him.

"You shall have your turn yet, mortal. My lads shall hunt you down and kill you. They are like hounds on the scent."

"I have the skill needed to delay others from pursuing me. Your 'lads' will never find me! That is, unless I kill them first."

"Your father spoke to me before he died," the Orc sneered, and Beren hesitated. "Do you want to know what his last words were? I pray to heaven that my son is safe and that he shall be given the strength to move on. I pray that this will not destroy his spirit or condemn his soul. I go now in peace."

Beren became all the more eager to kill the Orc by these words. He had not said this out of pity, but out of mockery and amusement. The sun shined red on the edges of the blade of Beren's sword as the sun began to set.

"Oh look," the Orc said. "The sun is setting. You had better kill me quickly, or you shall be hounded down and destroyed. Or are you planning to take me with you and spare me?"

"Spare you?" Beren leaned on his sword with laughter.

"I can hear my men rallying together. You mean to hold me hostage. I can guess your mind, coward. You Men are so predictable."

"Coward maybe," Beren answered. "But I have every right to kill you. Have you not heard the phrase: An eye for an eye? Or are you Orcs too stupid?"

The Orc clenched his jaw and said with scorn, "You men claim to have 'merciful values'. Where is that mercy now?"

"Mercy?" Beren snickered, and he grew cold. "Did you have mercy for my kinsmen? Did you have mercy enough to let alone a young boy? Did you have mercy enough to hunt for me and kill me too? That would indeed have been mercy! I would have prayed that Ilúvatar rewarded you for it! You are a demon, and therefore, I may deal with you as I like. Besides, you are not the first Orc I have killed, and I do not fear to destroy evil and wicked things. You need not worry about your Master's reward. You shall meet him soon enough to receive your reward: An eternity of torment. I swore to avenge my father, and my vengeance begins with you!"


	4. Chapter 4 Beren's Wandering and Finding

Four

Beren's Wanderings And Findings

After Beren had killed the Orc, he wandered far from Dorthonion, forsaking it at last, pursuing all creatures that were under the command of Morgoth. He became a fierce enemy of Orcs, and they soon fled at the mention of his name in fear for their skins. They did not hunt for him, but he hunted them, and when he found them, he could not be recognized as human. He would play with them, make them beg for mercy; grovel piteously upon the ground and kiss the dirt.

"My kinsmen might have done the same," he would tell them, and demand that they offer him ransom. "They would have offered anything for their lives."

The Orcs usually gave in, and those who cursed him as the alternative had their tongues simply cut out and left to die. The less thickheaded offered Beren wealth or slaves among many things, and Beren would take what they offered. He set the slaves free and gave them the wealth and sent the Orc upon their miserable way. Then he would find them the next day, stalk them, frighten them, and at last, take them before they could truly escape.

"This is the same mercy you showed your victims. Justice has come upon you times ten thousand! No more mockery and no more blood shall come forth from you again."

It was barbaric, of course, but Beren took great pleasure in it. It was the only pleasure he had now. Despite the blood spilling of so many Orcs, the murderers of his kin, Beren soon realized that it could not give him peace. He greatly mourned over the loss of his father, his cousins, and Gorlim and Hathaldir most of all, and leaving the site of their graves was a great struggle for him. Then Beren would have made for Nargothrond; the land that he had once called home as a boy, but he was often delayed by the difficult passes. He could not fight the invisible forces of Nature, for she sent snow to drive him back. He lost himself in the mountains where the Enemy pursued him, and he had to turn away.

Beren had slipped from death's grasp many times afterward, for he soon became a nuisance to Morgoth. None of the greatest of his Orc armies had courage or skill enough to catch him, so he sent Men, Wolves, and even Elves that he had swayed to his service to find him and set countless traps for him. Indeed, Morgoth put a bounty on his head that was as great as the Elvin-king Finrod's, and Beren wore this as a badge of honor. He disposed of all these servants, and Morgoth became enraged that a mortal could weave its way through his traps.

Beren also went searching for his mother and the other wives and children. He had not forgotten her, and he sought for her companionship. He was passing into all lands near that region, searching for any sign or rumor of the dearly departed, but he never found them. There were dark rumors that they were dead. But there was always one man that insisted that all was well. The Lady and the others of the Edain were safe with the house of Hador.

Eagerly, he pursued the rumors, which led him to the land of Dor-lomin. There they received him with joy, for he was a king among them, and they had thought him dead.

"Hail the lord of the Edain!" they called on high.

"Thank you, cousins," he said. "But, please, take me to my people."

Two women stood up in the crowd. One's hair shone like gold, and the other, the silent, fierce one, had hair dark as ebony.

"We are here," said the dark one.

Beren embraced them both.

"This is Morwen," said the golden-haired one, "and I am Rian. We are the daughters of Belegund and Baragund. Do you have news of our fathers?"

"Yes, of course, but that must wait. Where are the others? The women, and the children? What of my mother the Lady Emeldir?"

Morwen hesitated, and Rian said nothing. Then Morwen told him that they were the chief of the survivors of the women and children that Barahir had sent away; that they had been separated in a snowstorm crossing the mountains and Orcs had found them. Beren questioned them deeply concerning his mother.

Morwen, who had answered all of his questions as forthrightly as she could, answered, "I saw her fall, lord."

Beren slowly rose from his chair. "Alas! She is dead then?"

"Yes, my lord. She urged us all on bravely, but at the last, her strength failed. The Orcs bound us and would have dragged us off to Angband. Emeldir fought the Orcs, for she was a shield-maiden for much of her life. She was a noble warrior like her husband. I spoke to her before she died."

"What were her last words?"

"I do not know if my husband or my son live, but I will not be made a thrall nor shall I abandon my kinsmen to torment and death. I too am of the house of Bëor, and we shall fight rather than be thralls to Morgoth or slaves to fear. With those words, she took up a sword. But despite her noble speech, she was defeated, and the Orcs cast her over the side of the mountain."

"How did you escape?"

"It was Húrin of the house of Hador that rescued us all and brought us here. His men had been tracking these Orcs off the premises. The Orcs knew they were being pursued, and once the men were caught sight of, they decided they could not bring any of the Edain's women and children to be brought with malice and revenge to the pits. They had to kill us all quickly. Of all the captives, the Orcs began slaughtering the women first. They stood us all in a line, and an Orc slashed one neck and then another. Blood was upon the snow. They were about to slash my throat when the Orc was killed by Húrin's arrows."

"But surely, you cannot be the only ones!"

Morwen was silent.

"How many survived?"

"Many of the children survived," Rian told him. "They were far down the line so that their mothers were slain and not they. All that is left of our people are a few starving children, a few lads and some young maids. All of the men fit to fight went to war. Of the women, only Morwen and I are left."

"And of the children," Beren asked. "Is there a child- a girl, by the name of Vanwa?"

"Yes," Rian smiled. "That young one survived and is in our care."

"That at least will bring me peace to know that Hathaldir's death was not so much in vain. It gives me great relief to know that Vanwa is alive."

"What do you mean, lord? That boy died?"

"Yes," he answered with detachment.

"How?"

Then Beren broke to them the news of their father's deaths. Rian wept, but Morwen only cast down her eyes and thanked Beren for the news.

Beren remained in Dor-lomin for a few weeks, recovering of weariness and grief of grief only somewhat, and Rian welcomed Beren to stay with her and the men of Hador for good.

"Lord, I know that you must be grieved indeed," she told him one day. "We are close kin, Beren, and I would have you stay in my household and rest from your labors. Now that our kinsfolk are gone, there is little to defend. Stay here and do not go into the Wild."

Beren answered, "I have no place to rest, nor are my labors finished. How can you stand your grief? Your father is dead, your mother is dead, and yet you are here, and you seem happy."

"That is because I am," Rian answered. "Our fathers will not need to trouble about their children any longer, and I have my own happiness to consider, Beren. I am to be wedded to Hour."

"Congratulations."

Then Rian asked Beren if he would wed her cousin Morwen, saying, "You are the true lord of the Edain. You must continue the line, unbroken. A match with Morwen would guarantee the purity of the line. She is beautiful, lord Beren, said to be the most beautiful woman of our race, and she was hit hardest by your news."

This caught Beren as a great surprise, and he asked, "Then has the girl been weeping behind closed doors at night? When I told her that her father was dead, she did not shed a tear."

"Morwen has her own way of mourning, Beren. She is, after all, of the house of Bëor, and she is fierce in mind and mood, but I would like you to comfort her."

When Beren laughed, Rian led him to the gardens where Morwen was standing alone. She was beautiful, dark haired with keen gray eyes, the eyes of the Edain. She was a highborn lady, graceful and dignified. Any man would be a fool to refuse her, but she seemed to Beren to be merely a reflection of himself. She was close in kin, and though she did not weep or appear to be brooding, he could sense the anger and emptiness within. She had lost her family too.

"See there, Beren," Rian said. "She is dying inside. Go to her! Speak to her! Tell her how beautiful she is. Is she not pleasing to you? Might she offer you some solace from your grief? Hour is so to me, and Morwen can be so for you."

"I am driven by my oath to avenge my father and Morwen shall find a better husband than I," he said to Rian without even considering, and he left her household soon afterwards.

Beren did not plan to wed at all, but to avenge his father. He was now the only surviving member of his family but Beren did not care for love, thinking himself better off alone. He did not love Morwen, nor did she seem to love him. He also kept the words of Gorlim in his heart. He had warned him about love, and this was a warning that Beren had the mind to heed.

Even as he walked from the garden, Beren saw that Húrin, the lord of the House of Hador had come to Morwen. He spoke with her, and Beren watched their progress with interest. The next day, the lord came bearing gifts, each time more lavishly expensive, and Morwen's heart was turned to him, which was no surprise to Beren at all. Morwen soon became the mother of Túrin the dragon slayer, and Rian became the mother of Tour, the mariner and messenger of Ulmo the Vala, both children born to become legends, and both women met a tragic end.

Revenge was all that was upon Beren's mind. The confirmation of his mother's death only rekindled his anger and thirst for blood.

Beren returned to the Wild, becoming a stranger among his own kin. He wandered Middle-Earth alone for years in bitterness and misery with no hope in his heart and no home to go to. Soon, he felt little or nothing at all. He only knew one thing: His mother was dead, and his father was dead, and he was utterly alone. His clothes were neglected. The color had faded from them, and the color had drained from his eyes. They had once been gray and beautiful, full of a keen light and intelligence. Now they were dead and lifeless. He was swallowed in rage. At least when he had believed his mother was alive, he had some hope. His hope and pursuit had cheated him.

Now Beren had as yet seen no creature that could track him down, but as he wandered, he realized that something was following him. But every time he realized the presence was there, it was quickly gone again. It agitated him, and he became quite anxious. He wandered farther, into forests, into swamps, and at last, he came to the mountainous regions to drive this thing out into the open. He saw from afar the volcanic peaks of Gorgoroth, the Mountains of Terror. He saw that it was terrible. It was a desolate land and perilous, for many evil things roamed those mountains. He knew that if he were to find this thing, it would allow itself to be seen there where it thought it had an easy chance to kill him.

This something did not feel evil. Whenever Beren met with the servants of the Enemy, there was an aura of evil hovering about them. He could sense if from a long way off thanks to his experience as a hunter and his years spent seeking out and destroying the Enemy. But whenever he felt the strange presence; he felt it like a cloud of a sort of despair. He did not care if this creature was more potent than any he had yet faced. If he killed it, that was good. If it killed him, that was just as good.

He made the slow, treacherous decent up the peaks themselves so that he stood thousands of feet in the air. Breathing was hard, and weariness was upon him often, though he was not fatigued beyond endurance. He stood there in that sunless land and gave out the silent command for this man or beast to come out from its hiding. He was ready now, and this would be the best opportunity his enemies had ever had to destroy him. They simply needed to give him a great enough blow, and he would be falling down, down, into the abyss below.

"I know that you have been following me, whatever you are," he said aloud. "Show yourself, and one of us may live to see another day, but perhaps, never again the sun. If you wish to kill me now, do so, but it will be without pleasure. I do not seek death, and I do not desire life."

And upon the rock ledge beside him, which was perhaps man high, there appeared a bird. But not just any bird. Beren recognized the hollow eyes, the pits of darkness, that accusing glance. It was that same bird that he had seen on that terrible day when he had come to find his companions lying dead and mutilated. It was the bird with the tuft of white feathers on his breast, and when he saw it, he sprang from where he sat and drew his bow, and the bird stared with little interest.

"You!" he hissed. "Why are you following me? Are you some sort of hell-hawk that makes a mockery of my grief? Fly or I shall shoot you!"

The bird stared at Beren and did not move.

"Who are you?" Beren asked, knowing how foolish it was.

This was a bird, and it had no mental capability, and of course, the bird remained silent. He thought of Gorlim, and he did not know why. He saw himself again racing the coming of dawn. He remembered crying to his father, The Orcs are coming! Then there was the tumble down the slope and the splash of muddy water that was mixed with blood.

He shook himself out of the flashback and bent his bow. Then the bird let out a cry, and Beren may have been imagining it, but he thought he heard Gorlim's voice.

"It would be better if you were to rush upon that bloodied sword of yours, than to go on like this, Beren."

Beren stood for a moment in shock and dropped his bow. "Who are you?"

There was no answer. This was a forsaken place. Not a soul was there, save himself and this thing with him. He sank to his knees, feeling utterly alone, lonelier than he had ever felt before.

"Speak! Why will you not speak to me?"

The bird squawked again.

"Do you get pleasure from tormenting me so? Leave me now, cursed demon!"

Beren sprang to his feet suddenly, then he loosed an arrow, but the bird somehow dodged it, even though Beren was a hunter and had wondrous aim when it came to the bow and arrow. Beren was even more amazed, but now he was angry and frustrated. The bird landed always again and again in the same position, staring at Beren as though he were acting foolishly. He emptied his quiver and charged the bird; he so desired to be rid of those scornful eyes. The bird had not expected this, and actually croaked in outrage and puzzlement.

"Ah yes!" Beren laughed. "Now you know how I feel!"

He ran, and then, he came to the edge of the mountainside and almost slipped right off the edge. He flailed his arms to try to balance himself and not fall over thousands of feet from earth. As he struggled to keep his balance, he dropped his quiver, and Beren saw it fall out of mortal sight. Finally, he fell backwards onto land and breathed a sigh of relief. When he finally caught his breath, he wondered suddenly, spontaneously: Why not jump?

He looked down below. It was sure death if you leaped from here, and Beren, for the moment, desired death and an end to his pain and grief. To end his suffering and to see his father and his mother again would be paradise enough for him. Beren was just walking through what seemed to be a miserable limbo world. He was alone in the Wild with none to turn to. Enemies were pursuing him wherever he went. He was tired of wandering and killing. All that he had been fighting for and all that he had once believed seemed vain. He only believed now that either he would die an outlaw from the plagues of mankind and the doom of death to mortal men, or he would finally be caught and butchered by the Enemy in the same way that his kinsmen had been. No matter how many Orcs Beren killed in his rage against them, the more they seemed to increase, and it had not made his grief any less burdensome to him, nor did he gain anything back from it. Not even his own humanity that he had lost.

The thought of taking his own life seemed like an open doorway to oblivion, and Beren became so obsessed with the idea that he sat upon the edge, dangling his legs as a child might. He plunged into his own gloom and depression, and he now felt prepared to die. Perhaps he would not feel pain when he fell? Certainly, Beren could not ever recall feeling any physical pain during those four years of his darkness. Would this truly end his pain? What had he left behind? He had left behind only the carcasses of his enemies. And that phantom of Gorlim that seemed to be haunting him now.

So now he stood up again and prepared to jump and take his own life, but then the same bird that had been watching him closely from a distance flew above his head and beat its wings against his face. It began to scratch at his face with his talons so that he had to back away from the edge of death for a moment.

"Can you not give a man a moment of peace before he is about to die!" Beren bellowed, wiping the blood out of his eyes.

The bird did not answer, but flew toward the open air, and Beren stared after him. It was just then that 'dawn' came. Then he saw, far off in the fog, a land that was in no doubt elvish, for the forest was fair and green, and there were hills and rivers, and upon the biting wind came the voices of the Elves. He stood for a moment listening, and his heart was warmed and stirred with memories of the Elves of Nargothrond, and the land before him seemed to be illuminated with a heavenly light. Such a sight was welcome to a man that had been wandering through nothing but cheerless wastelands for four years, so Beren hesitated, and then headed that way.

The bird followed him for a little while, always at a distance so that Beren could spy its shadow once or twice, but then it vanished. Beren had ignored it, but now, he wondered what kind of bird it was, and he wondered who had sent it. He returned his thoughts to the Elvin-city, and he began climbing back down the perilous precipices of Gorgoroth.

Before Beren could reach the city, he was forced to travel upon the pass of Nan Dungortheb, or the Valley of Dreadful Death. That was what the Elves often called it, and not without reason. This was the valley between the precipices of Gorgoroth and the Girdle of Doriath. There was no other way that a mortal man could know. All other passes were guarded heavily and remained secret by the Elves.

The paths of Dungortheb were the least trodden. Those who took that path were never seen again. It was there that the power of Sauron, one of Morgoth's most terrible servants and the most powerful sorcerer of Middle-Earth, and the power of Melian the Maia, no less terrible to behold, nor was she any less powerful, met and formed together to make creatures of such horror and monstrosity that no one that saw them would speak of them because of the horror of memory. There were creatures there that were more ancient than the valley itself. In this valley was born the Children of Ungoliant, and she was a fell spideress of enormous size.

But Beren was totally ignorant of these spiders. He was worried about food, for he did not need schooling to know that the water that fell there was poison, and he did not trust the wild roots and plants. He almost starved himself in this land, and the region still was sunless, and he suffered greatly from thirst. Although he was the greatest hunter that lived, he was made the hunted.

On the second day of his passing through the Valley of Dreadful Death, he heard a strange metallic sound while he was climbing down the rocky slopes of the valley that seemed to echo in eternity. He stopped and looked all about, using all six of his senses, but there was nothing to be seen and nothing more to be heard. He began walking again at a much faster pace, when the noise was repeated, and it was right behind him. He quickly turned, but then he felt something tear into the flesh of his neck. It was a stinger, and drugged and caught off guard, he fell to the earth, seeing double and losing his sight altogether. He saw one thing before he swooned.

It was a monster, the most terrible thing that prowled upon the valley. The thing had thousands of eyes so that Beren could see himself mirrored a thousand fold; a hapless victim. It was hairy with eight slender legs, and a foul stench preceded it. It had a pair of fangs that dripped smoking poison. It was a spider of Ungoliant.

When Beren awoke, he found himself wrapped in some sort of spider-web. He struggled, but the webs were as thick and as strong as rope, and they cut into him like cords. The drugs still made him drowsy, but he saw what was happening. There was a spider before him; its fangs were poised for the kill. Beren let out a muffled cry and struggled with all his might. He wanted to live. He wanted to find that land he had seen from afar.

"My blood is as vile as your own, over sized apricot!" he said.

The spider was so surprised and amazed that it stopped. It had given Beren enough poison to kill ten men, yet here his victim was, crying and struggling and very much alive. The spider wanted to be rid of the noise quick, and it lunged at him. But Beren twisted his body so that the spider's fangs cut only into the rope so that he could reach his sword. When he cut himself loose, he fell to the ground in a daze and could not see. If he had not had the small Elvin-blade that his father had given him as a child and cut the web, he may have become a meal for the spider. It hissed at him and he swung his sword, but he soon realized that these foul spiders had a hide like armor.

Beren did the only thing he could do. He ran like a hare.

The spider was so enraged that it let out that metallic, clicking sound, and there appeared four more spiders, even larger than it was. The spiders were thrown into a fury that no savage animal could match, and they ran in pursuit. Beren barely escaped with his life. It had been fate that had spared him-for the moment. Beren was dodging the poisoned stingers of the spiders when he tripped on his own feet, for he was weary and sickly.

Beren stumbled and fell, and as he rolled forwards, he felt himself pass through a hedge. He felt himself burning like fire as a thousand thorns cut him. He could not breathe for a few moments. He closed his eyes and almost fell unconscious again, but the pain was brief, and then he felt a rush and found himself unharmed upon sweet green grass. When he had the courage to open his eyes, he was blinded by moonlight. The spiders shook and hissed with anger, and the largest one of all tried to pass through the hedges as Beren had done. If a mortal could pass through, why not one of the mightiest of the Children of Ungoliant? But as soon as he began to pass through, a mist sprang up from the ground, confusing it and poor Beren. The other spiders were so aghast that they fled and were nowhere to be seen. They could not follow where Beren had gone to, and they seemed to be nothing more than shadows in Beren's memory now. Behind him lay Death, but before him? Hope?

He decided to go forward through the strange mists. He did not know if it was because of the drugs still or the mist itself, but every step took great strength of both body and will. A weight was upon his heart. Eventually he gave up walking and crawled instead for what seemed like ages until he passed through the mists, and suddenly the weight was lifted. He did not know it, but Beren had just passed through the Girdle of Melian, and this Elvin-nation was one of the Hidden Kingdoms. No mortal had ever set foot or even seen from afar this land. It was untouched by mortals. Beren did not know then that he had just altered the fate of Middle-Earth. No beast or bird espied him, for such was his skill.

The beauty of this land had Beren at his knees. Birds were singing, and then Beren felt warmth upon his hands and face. Dawn was breaking, and the sun shone upon his face. The sun was shining! Oh, the sun, and he was grateful to see her again. He had not seen the sun for two years, and he had long missed her. Beren saw deer in the trees before him, but he did not hunt for them. He followed them for a while, in awe of the animal's grace. He slew no animal flesh during his time of wandering. He had sworn to use his skills only to destroy the Enemy.

Then there came a gentle rain that left everything fresh and sweet scented. There was green here, and green there. There were flowers in great numbers. A few flowers caught his eye that he had never seen before. They were the star-shaped elanor and niphredil. They were the most beautiful flowers that he had ever seen. He heard the sound of water and ran for it. Surely, this water was fresh and clean. He drank his fill and ate the fruits from the ground that seemed to melt in his mouth. They were so tender and juicy and its whiteness exceeded all whiteness.

The forest was lit with gold, and when twilight came, the forest shone with silvery light. When night came, the forest of Neldoreth was a wonder. The stars shone full upon the sky, and the forest was kindling with their light. There were lights of silver, pearly white, and pale blue. It was a feast of lights. There were no monsters stirring. There were wolves howling, but they were ordinary wolves that only made music in the shadows. There were no tortured screams in the night. Beren was able to sleep peacefully for the first time in years and years.

It was a night of June, and Lúthien had a spar with her father. She was his heir and yet he would not allow her to travel to Nargothrond with his messengers to meet King Finrod within his own realm. How could she be expected to rule if her allies were strangers to her? Besides, she had begun to put the matter of marriage to the forefront of her mind. Most of the Eldar were wed as soon as they came of age. Lúthien had counted over five centuries and was yet unwed. This was unusual, even for a princess, but no one within Doriath seemed satisfactory to her father or to herself, and the only serious proposal she had ever received was from Finrod. Now, however, she began to see marriage as an opportunity to leave Doriath and become her own master. She could not imagine that Finrod was as overbearing as her father. But Thingol had not allowed it, making the usual excuses that the road was too perilous, that she had a duty to her own people, that she guarded many of the secrets of Doriath, and they could not take such risks.

What was worse, Melian had said nothing in defense of her daughter nor anything to support her husband. She merely continued talking with Artanis, her niece by marriage. Artanis could have been mistaken for one of the Vanyar, for her hair was a brilliant golden, and she was as tall as or taller than any man in the room. She was, at first glance, beautiful beyond compare, and at second glance, otherworldly, a light out of Valinor for unlike the Sindar, she had been born in Valinor. Artanis was low spoken, her voice steady and deeper than most maids like Melian. Her eyes were a quick and piercing gray and revealed that she was ancient and intelligent.

As much as Lúthien loved Artanis, sometimes she resented the Noldoli princess. Melian had warmed quickly to Celeborn's wife. In fact, she was the one that suggested that Artanis come to Menegroth as a courtesy and arranged for Celeborn to dance with her at her welcoming feast. Since Artanis was a royal lady but a stranger to the Sindar, Melian took her under her wing. She was often in the Queen's shadow and her dedicated protégée, closer to Melian than her own daughter, which Lúthien did not fail to notice, but she feared mentioning it would alienate Artanis. Instead she avoided them when they were together and did not question them about what they discussed. She knew for a certainty though that Melian taught her secrets. Perhaps Melian fancied that Artanis and Celeborn were much like her and Thingol, or she saw some rare qualities in the maiden that she did not see in Lúthien. Maybe she wished Artanis had been her daughter. It broke Lúthien's heart just thinking about it.

She came upon Daeron writing in his books beside one of the many pools of Menegroth. Sneaking up beside him was easy with her dancer's feet and her beloved scholar wrapped up in his book. She dipped a slender hand into the cool water and splashed his face. Reeling with shock, he fell over backwards with a grunt. As she laughed, he climbed to his feet and assessed the damage to his books.

"The ink is blotted," he frowned. "Honestly, you act childish sometimes."

"And why not?" she instantly became serious. "I am always treated as a child. Even the smallest of children are allowed more freedom than I. I have seen it. Children without escort walking hand in hand to the surface and gone for hours. It makes me ill!"

Let us leave these caves and go to Neldoreth," she clutched his arm eagerly.

He hesitated, "Is that wise?"

"You know what Mablung and Beleg said last council. The borders of Doriath have been blessedly free of Orcs lately. It is safer than it has ever been since the Long Peace. It has been too long since last we made music, just you and I. My heart is weary and longs for the forest. A little fresh air! That is all I ask."

"Neldoreth is the Northernmost forest in our realm. I shall have to try to leave out which forest we are going to when I inform the king."

"Why must we inform him?"

"We would risk his wrath!"

"Then you must tell him, I suppose. He trusts you more than he trusts me."

So Daeron rose and went to ask. Thingol usually gave his consent freely unless he had heard reports of evil weather or Orcs. Nonetheless, Daeron was always anxious whenever he approached the king. If a dark mood was upon him he might even refuse to see him.

"Might I speak with his majesty concerning the Princess' wishes?" he asked the door wardens. They passed inside to inquire, then let him pass.

"He is not in the best of spirits, I fear," one murmured. "He and the princess fought, it is said."

"Wonderful," he sighed heavily.

He entered and bowed low and remained kneeling, though it was not custom and uncomfortable. A little humility never hurt, and he wished to avoid eye-contact as much as possible.

"Let me guess," Thingol's voice was hard. "She asks to depart Doriath for Nargothrond. She hoped if you spoke for her I would relent."

Daeron let out his breath and said happily, "No, my lord. She asks only to go above surface for a while. I keep telling her Nargothrond is all but unfinished and not half so beautiful as Menegroth. Perhaps if we go and visit the other parts of Doriath, she will forget the whole notion"

"She will not be content with that. She never is."

Thingol clenched his jaw and Daeron feared he would refuse. If so, Lúthien might do something really rash.

"How far above surface?"

"Just to the forest."

"To Brethil? That place is infested with Men folk now. Since it is not within the Girdle I could no longer refuse them."

"No, no. We will stay within the Girdle."

"Where exactly then?"

Daeron stretched his mind for an evasive answer and found none. Then Melian spoke.

"Is it not enough to know that Daeron is with her? He has guarded her well thus far. I think it unfair to question him so. Denying Lúthien so much as this may turn her heart from you."

Her words were magic. Thingol softened and nodded.

"Remind Lúthien that though Orcs have been absent as of late, it does not mean they are gone forever."

Daeron thanked them both many times. He returned to the princess with smiling face and hers lit up. She leaped and embraced him and kissed his lips in sisterly fashion. That gave him more joy than she knew.

Will I ever have the courage to tell her? He wondered. And would she laugh? No, she would pity me as she has pitied her other suitors. And he wondered as before if she would ever wed and who it might be. Her father was the only male that had sway over her, a powerful sway. It would take an uncommon Elf to match it. He did not know who could, but it was certainly not him.

Beren was adamant in his decision to leave Doriath. He began to sink back into gloom. He had enjoyed the sense of freedom that had come over him after he left Dorthonion for the last time, for he never felt more at ease than when he was alone in the wild, self reliant, practicing the skills that he had learned of necessity and after years became as natural to him as breathing. But he became very embittered and reclusive because of the horrors and grief that he had endured. He was far from recovered yet he felt well enough to begin traveling again. He was convinced that there was nothing for him here, for he had encountered nothing but the beasts of the forest. There was no sign of Man or Elf. The land was bountiful, and he supplied himself with fruit, greens, nuts, and fresh water. He hunted no flesh still and only took dead wood to burn on the harsh cold nights on the road. Although he was not thrilled by the notion, he knew that he had tarried too long. He shouldered his paraphernalia and took a last drink from the cool waters of Esgalduin. The waters had a strange taste, but not unpleasant. He might never come across such a river or stream again.

He had sighted Doriath upon the mountains and hoped to find Elves here, but if there were any, they were hiding, and that infuriated them. He started to hate them all, despite being fostered by them in his youth. He had seen his people fall and Dorthonion overrun. The Eldar seldom fought in the open, unwilling to sacrifice their precious lives. They allowed Men to suffer the worst blows of the wars. And now he was the last of Bëor's House, the First Men. His kin was slain, his true home lost, and Nargothrond was yet far away. He supposed that he could venture to Brethil where the folk of Haleth dwelt. He had left Dor-lomin because Morwen and Rian were there. He could not gaze upon them without hearing Gorlim's voice and seeing Hathaldir's face drain of color. Perhaps he would find purpose in Brethil. Perhaps he could save someone.

He had tried to leave Doriath before, but something seemed to hold him there. He wandered the northern borders slaying Orcs. In Orc hunting he excelled, and since they knew his look they fled. Now they had more to fear than Strongbow and the Huntsman in that region, for so they called Mablung and Beleg. He was aware now that there was some bewitched barrier about the land, but he did not quite understand it. The Girdle of Melian allowed him to pass through, but it was getting more difficult to pass in and out of it. It seemed to let him pass reluctantly, his feet grew heavy as lead, and only his willpower gave him the strength to step out of the Girdle. He wondered if he could leave at all anymore.

As he stood there, wallowing in grief and the haziness of his future, there came suddenly enchanting sounds. It was a strange but fatalistic chance. He heard what sounded like a woodland pipe, and it trilled an eerie tune. The forest stilled until there was only the music. It rang in his ears, scarcely recognizable after so long. Beren frowned at first. He wondered if he was going mad. But his curiosity was something that a Man cannot control. The sound was more beautiful than anything he had heard before. None of the pipers among his people or even the minstrels of Nargothrond could have matched it. The person or thing that winded such was unearthly, and the instrument a gift from the gods. Before he knew it, the pipe led him deep into the woods of Neldoreth, unwilling or willing he knew not. There was someone in this place, this false paradise, or so he had called it. They could not be evil. Perhaps he would finally speak to another soul, find out where he was and where he should go next. But perhaps that was more than he could hope for.

The woods of Neldoreth were vast and ancient. White moths flew about, and there was certain magic in the air. The trees grew mighty and tall with many leaves. These were birches and willows, and the trees' bark was smooth and white. Beren had come to the heart of the forest where many of the beeches grew and peculiar beings dwelt, and it was even whispered that voices could be heard from some of those great trees. He stumbled, numb, past the great trees and the smaller saplings, past the tall flowers. The green grass, splashed with silver dew, fell before his unrelenting feet. He came toward the hill of Esgalduin without fear, following the tunes of the pipe where the trees grew round and the grass was green always.

The eerie song resumed, tormenting him and driving him further. He felt the dream-spell coming upon him. He struggled to shake it off. He did not want visions. He recalled the minstrels of Nargothrond. When they played, their listeners sometimes became victims to their songs. Visions came unbidden to them so that the minstrels could re-enact battles, and bring back dead heroes and fair maidens. Finrod his foster-father had taught him a lesson in this way.

When he was still a boy and his father's squire, Beren had asked a minstrel what their secret was, and the Elf had shrugged.

"The spirit is always seeking a way to forget the flesh," he replied. "When I play music, I slip out of myself and become one with my instrument, the story it is telling, and the group listening. The same happens to them, and their minds alter. They cannot help it. And so, because they are being tapped in this way, they may see visions. Mind you, not everyone sees visions. Sometimes the musician is at odds with the music or themselves. Or the listener is at odds with the other elements. Or they simply will visions away."

As he came near, he heard another sound that was even more alien to his ears. A feminine voice cut through the cold night air and rose in laughter. Beren froze in his steps. Her voice was lovely and musical; the laughter was like bells that banished ill. No mortal woman had such a voice. He also thought he saw a piercing, white glow through the leaves that near blinded him. Shielding his eyes, he swore and swept aside the leaves, and there he saw something that his eyes did not expect to see in waking life.

There he saw Lúthien for the first time, the princess of the Sindar and most beautiful of all maidens, dancing upon the hill of Esgalduin to a pipe unseen under the stars. She wore a mantle that was sewn with golden flowers. Her raiment was blue, and about her brow was set a circlet of gold, encrusted with gems like the stars, and these were what had caused the blinding glow of light. Growing upon the hill like a thick blanket was the two star-shaped flowers elanor and niphredil. The flower buds opened up before the maiden's very feet. The stars and the moon seemed to sway its pale light upon her and made her a queen of stars, or perhaps that was a trick of the dream-spell. She danced noiselessly, her beauty a more irresistible enchantment than the dream-spell itself. She had hair dark as the shadows of night, loose and long. Her eyes were gray as the twilight's gleam. She was tall and slender, and trod barefoot so that he saw her feet were small and white.

She was an elf-maiden, he supposed, though something about her did not seem elfish. He had seen other Elvin-women of course, but this Elvin-maid was by far the fairest one he had ever seen, and he thought at first that she was only a vision caused by the dream-spell or that he was finally going mad. He blinked and shook his head.

This cannot be possible, he thought. That damnable piper is making me hallucinate. Or it is a trick, an evil spell to make me fall as Gorlim did! He reached for his sword, but the song ended, and the maiden began to speak.

"How I wish that I could have a dancing partner and an audience, but my only partner is the wind and my only audience is the mute trees!" she spoke the Sindarin tongue, and her voice was beautiful and soothing.

"I would dance with you," came a treble voice from the other side of the hill. "But then your only music would be the wind in the trees!"

The maiden laughed again. Was it mischief or amusement in her eyes? The minstrel resumed, and the maiden danced. She was no evil enchantment. She was real; no vision set to entrap him, as he had at first feared. No vision could be so clear or fair, and Beren did not want to believe it was only a trick either.

The maiden danced, her arms moving about gracefully, her skirts flowing with the movement and with the gentle breeze. The dream-spell seemed to have been cast upon them both. She danced with eyes closed, his fixed upon her, drinking in her beauty and the beauty about them. He knew then this sight would ever be with him. He was aware of everything, her most of all. But there was also the dim glow of the moon and stars that stood motionless for that moment in time to bear witness. There was the cool chill of the night air that caused them all to flush with life and sharpened the senses. There was the sweet scent the maiden cast off, and the smell of the grass and earth. He no longer felt an ounce of fatigue, and he forgot his desire to depart, and that he had not eaten for days. Indeed he forgot all his troubles on the road. The ice was slowly melting from his frozen heart. His emotions returned to him at the sight of the maiden, and with them, he also began to burn with a sudden passion.

Suddenly, a name passed his lips. "Tinúviel." Immediately he wondered from whence it had come. It had been years since his dream had visited him and he had forgotten it. He struggled to remember.

He supposed the piper must have heard, for the song ceased upon a sharp, unpleasant note.

"What is it?" the maiden asked her companion. "Your eyes have been wandering like a hawk's and your notes are going flat!"

"I just thought I heard a voice," the pipe-player answered, although Beren could not see him.

"Perhaps the trees are speaking to you and telling you to correct your tone," the maiden teased.

"No Ent nor Huron has such a voice. There may be an audience for our concert after all."

Beren realized that he had not cared to be silent coming toward them, nor had he cared to hide himself. He ducked down into the undergrowth quickly, and the Elvin-minstrel gave himself away by moving his head toward the sound suddenly and standing up. The minstrel stepped into Beren's view. He was an Elf, that much Beren knew at once. He was not tall, according to his kind. He was a few inches shorter than the maiden and even more girlish looking than most elvish men. He had a smooth face and high cheekbones. His hair was chestnut brown and long, and his eyes almond-shaped and large. They were dark brown. He was slender as a willow wand with delicate hands made for his station. He wore a gray tunic and gray cloak trimmed with white deer fur. Gray was the color of the Royal Court in Menegroth.

His pipe was in his hand, his left hand. It was a surprisingly plain, wooden pipe, and yet it made such beautiful sounds. It was made of ivory white beech, made from the stuff of the mighty tree Hirilorn herself that roofed the Great Hall of the Thousand Caves. It was unadorned, not even painted or carved with runes. A simple instrument, but winded by the greatest minstrel of Elder Days.

The maiden smiled and looked about, "An audience! Just as I wished! Play on, Daeron. The night is growing old, and I do not want to waste my time looking for the unseen!"

"It is the unseen that can be deadly, but I hope it is nothing."

"It is nothing!"

"My lady," Daeron said, "it is getting rather cold. We should return to the Caves."

"But we just started," the maiden frowned.

"You know that I want nothing more than to be here with you and devote my talent to the spirits of the forest, but it may not be wise."

The maiden snorted, reminding Beren of a fiery horse, and replied, "Save your wisdom for the councils, my friend, though sometimes I think that my kinswoman Artanis has more sense than the whole lot of the court!"

"Which may be so," Daeron was insulted, "but she is of Noldoli birth. I do not trust her."

"Do not speak ill of my kinswoman!"

They were silent for a moment. Then they each seemed to repent without words. They were close friends and understood each other's body language. Daeron sighed and began playing his pipe again, and the Elvin-woman continued her dance.

Beren knew there was something else different about this maiden than the other Elvin-women he had met. She was Sindarin, and he knew that many of the Sindar hated or feared Men, even though the Elves were a peaceful people. They had a great mistrust of strangers, and Men were frowned upon as a wicked people. It was not Thingol's only flaw. If the girl saw Beren, she would most certainly run in fear, so he made sure to hide himself and was as silent as a mouse. He dared not even take a full breath. But he soon found that he was hypnotized by the Elf-maid's dance, so he climbed into a tree and sat upon one of its branches and watched her from there. He began slipping farther down the branch to get a closer look without realizing it, and also forgetting that if he came too close, he would be spotted, and an alarm would be raised.

The branch began to bend and give way. Beren felt it bend a little beneath him, and he came to his wits again. He heaved a weary sigh. Then he heard a loud snap, a ripping sound, and the next thing he knew, he was falling to the ground. He let out a muffled cry and landed with a heavy thud, and dozens of leaves fell lightly after him. Beren lay where he was, gasping for air.

"Aye Elbereth!" he groaned, sitting up with great difficulty. Surely, he would be bruised and sore to the touch for many days.

The maiden gasped and stopped dancing at the sounds, startled. The song of the pipe faltered. The maiden stood there, frozen. She was now at full alarm and listened intently.

"What in the Valar's name was that?" said Daeron.

"I do not know," the maiden answered, still staring forward warily. "But it is plain that a branch over there was broken. We must go and see what there is to see."

She came toward Beren. He stared for a moment, and then he crawled his way into hiding only just in time. The minstrel followed after her and studied the broken branch.

"Well, whatever it was," said the elf-woman, pointing toward the tree, "according to the signs, it had a long way to fall."

"That means it could still be here and may be wounded."

"Then let the poor thing go!"

"I told you that I heard something," the minstrel insisted. "We should leave now. It may not be safe."

"A broken branch means nothing. Branches may fall from trees of their own accord. Or an animal broke it."

"It could be an enemy."

"Tell me again what you heard."

"Footsteps."

"There are some of the Eldar that live in the forests," the girl reminded him. "Remember Nellas? And then there is the Laquendi. They are usually too shy to show themselves, but when I call, they answer me."

"Then call, milady. None of the Green-Elves will greet you, however. It made too much noise to be an Elf."

"All because you have become spooked over a little noise-"

"I am not afraid, just keeping on my guard. That is my duty."

"Well, perhaps you do your duty too well!"

"That is not fair! It was your father that sent me with you, and he was wise to have done so. We are not even supposed to be here! He thinks you are away near the Caves, which, if I may remind you, are leagues away from here!"

"Yes. My Father wants me to stay in the Caves. The Thousand Caves may be carved like a stone forest, but stone is not my wont. I prefer the untamed Wild where the trees are green and I can hear the song of Yavanna thunder in my ears and dance as the twilight lingers! I have become restless in that palace!"

"The Queen's Girdle cannot ward off all evil things! Anything powerful enough could break through it. She said so herself."

"I have not heard anything," the maiden said wearily. "And you always hear something when we go anywhere."

"I do not claim to hear anything. I heard it! I am only careful for your sake, and I heard a voice plain as day."

"Well, then perhaps your ears are keener than mine are."

"What would your father say of all this?"

"You must always be prepared for the worst, my child. Danger wears many masks," the Elvin-maid answered sarcastically. "The usual sort."

"But your father is very wise. You should listen to him more often. Then you would not be so careless."

"Careless? I am not careless, and who is it that says I do not listen to my Father? I listen to him, of course. I must. After all, I am his daughter. It is my duty to listen to him."

"Well, then you do not take in what he says, and you do not follow his advice. You must know that is what fathers are for."

The Elvin-maid sighed and said gravely, "My Father does not give me advice. He locks me away in his hoard, fearing the harm of all the most terrible things. Once you have heard the ancient one's lectures that he gives over a score of times, you soon build up a wall without realizing it. I love my Father, of course, but he is too protective of me. He calls me his greatest treasure; a jewel beyond all value."

"Your father lavishes some affection on you. What is wrong with that?"

"I am no ornament to his kingdom! I am an Elvin-maid! I am sick of the cage, and I grow ill with each winter that I am forced inside of it. Since childhood, I have had to wander in those halls, wishing to venture in the Wild. I was born in these woods, if I may remind you, Daeron, and here, my heart is. I am Sindarin, born with a great love for nature and starlight. Do you not understand that?"

"You know better than that. I know you feel trapped in Menegroth and that you do not want to go back, but I still feel concerned, Lu-"

"Do not feel concerned for me!" she hissed. "I am tired of your concern!"

Beren was disappointed. He had almost caught the girl's name, but she had interrupted.

"Listen, Daeron, you must pardon me for hissing at you, but what I have said is the truth. What we heard might have only been an animal," she continued. "And I do not often have the chance to come here anymore. You may bring our horses, and if we hear another sound or if we sense any sort of pursuit, we shall flee immediately, much to my dislike, of course."

"You should come with me. I do not like leaving you alone here. Whatever we heard, whatever it is. Someone or something, I fear it is the worst."

"Whatever the danger, it cannot be as dangerous as you would like to believe," the Elvin-maid assured him, smiling at him with disdain from over her shoulder. "We are, after all, only in a forest and well protected by my Mother's girdle. It cannot be Orcs. Orcs would do more damage than break a branch! They would whoop and clash their swords like the savages they are, and they would give no such clear warnings before an attack."

"Orcs are terrible," Daeron shivered, his tone had also become much more serious. "We both have had our experience with them. Morgoth's breed they are, after all."

"I know all about Orcs, Daeron," the maiden chided. "Do not school me in that subject! My Father has already tried his best to teach me to fear. Do not worry about me. If it were an enemy, he would be after our horses. So you fetch them, and I shall stay here and keep a lookout."

"Very well. I will not try to woo you into coming with me. If you truly wish to prove your bravery and fierceness, that is well, but do not make me regret this. I swear that one of these days, your bravery will be your undoing."

"What is that supposed to mean, and what would you have to regret? You are a minstrel! You can sing as much as you like because you live without troubles."

"And you have troubles? You sing like a bird!"

"I would just like to come here more often, and not just in secret."

"Perhaps you will. There is naught else on your mind, is there? If you have such troubles, than it is my duty to try to ease them!"

"No, no. Of course not."

"Good!" Daeron kissed her hand. "You know that you and I promised to keep no secrets from each other."

"And I appreciate that, Daeron," the Elvin-maid smiled. "You are very sweet. Now go on! I thought you were the one eager to leave!"

Daeron laughed and then gave the Elvin-maid a comical bow to make her laugh, which she did.

"Stop that, you silly fool! Fetch our horses, and we can leave! That is what you want, correct?"

"As you wish, my lady. Remember that if any harm were to come to you, your father would have my head!"

"Do not fret! I will be careful."

Daeron sprang off into the trees. Beren lay still in the undergrowth, cursing himself for being so careless. He should have known sooner from experience and common sense that he could not stand on that branch. The trees in Elvin-lands were limber. What had happened to his wits? Could this Elvin-woman's dancing be that powerful over the mind? Beren had seen other Elvin-women, and none had caused him to make such a mistake, and most Elvin-women were very beautiful. None had cast such a spell of enchantment on a man of the Edain.

But then he got an ambitious notion in his head. He believed that maybe he could try to speak to the Elvin-maid. After all, she did not seem too alarmed by his little mistake, and the minstrel was gone. He hesitated. Then, taking a risk, he began stepping out to her. But the Elvin-maid seemed to realize that she was not quite alone. She was tuning into every sound and made her way slowly toward her companion.

Beren pursued her closely behind, walking lightly almost by her side and not daring to breathe. At length, the Elvin-woman stopped and sat beside a hemlock. He was able to make his way cautiously behind her. He opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out. He was speechless. What could he say? As soon as he spoke, she would likely flee. He laid his hand gently upon her white arm. She was warm, and her skin was smoother than he thought possible. He let in a sharp breath, but she gasped as soon as he touched her and wrenched her arm free. Then she broke into a run, never looking back, and she ran like a deer, for she ran with grace and speed.

"DAERON!" she screamed.

Beren ran after her, tongue finally loose, calling out to her in Sindar. Few knew the Elvin-tongue except for Elf-friends in the house of the Edain, which was Beren's kin, but the Elvin-maid did not hear him. She was light-footed, and Beren could not catch her. She reached Daeron and the horses first, and he stopped following her there. It was not worth allowing the minstrel to see him, for he bore a sword at his side, and Beren only wished to speak with the Elvin-woman, not frighten her as he had done.

"Changed your mind, have you?" Daeron asked triumphantly when he saw her.

"No time! There is someone in these woods!" she said, panting. "We must get out of here now."

The maiden leaped full upon her horse, and Daeron followed. The girl gave out a command, and the horses reared upon their hind legs and bolted off like a flash of lightning. Beren did not pursue them. Perhaps the elf-maid would come back. Her flight had caused him sore pain, and again he wandered the forest until he stumbled in the Elvin-river. There he sat and bent with misery.

"So this is where my long road has led me," he said bitterly. "To hunger and a life of loneliness, and enchanted waters pitiless."

Beren was hurt that the maiden had run from him. He fell into deep loneliness and despair, but he remained in those woods so that he could see her again, for that touch of her arm made him more eager than ever to speak to her, and gave him a glimmer of hope. A summer waned, an autumn glowed, and to his joy, he heard the sounds of a pipe on one warm, autumn night. He came back to the hill and saw her there again.

She returned a few times again on warm autumn nights, wearing a beautiful crown of golden leaves to match the season. Once again, Beren fell under that strange enchantment. Had he perhaps gone mad with love? He had to speak to her, to let her know that he was there. He wished that he did not have to spy on her like some desperate admirer. But Daeron was always with her, doubly alert and much more arrogant, and the two could not stay long. When he left her side, which was rarely, Beren could not speak aloud at all, and he could not go to her. Chains were on his limbs. The two Elves spoke seldom themselves to each other, and their voices were always in soft and quick voices in their own tongue. Therefore, Beren had to be content with watching her from a safe distance. Beren venerated her; for in her he saw all that was hallowed in Middle-earth, all that was powerful, wise, and strong, and all that was beautiful among women and accommodating.

She came again in winter. No snow fell upon the ground in Doriath, and it was warmer than the season's wont thanks to the Girdle of Melian. Her visits became less frequent and it seemed that she left as quick as she came. She came wearing a diamond like a star upon her brow. Beren knew that he had long since fallen in love with her, and he did not care if she were Valier, Elvin-maid or Woman. When she left Neldoreth, he followed after her and Daeron to the very gates of Menegroth. Lúthien looked toward the trees where Beren was hiding and saw his face half-hidden by the leaves.

"Daeron! Daeron, come quick!"

Daeron ran back to her immediately, drawing his sword, "Are you all right?"

"I thought . . . Never you mind. My eyes must have been playing tricks on me as of late."

"All right then. Well, I must go, and your father is expecting you. Farewell."

She stared at the trees for a long while.

"Who are you?" she said aloud. "I know you are there," Lúthien said grimly. "I have become rather keen to feel your presence, because you are always there! I can feel your eyes on me. Reveal yourself!"

Beren shifted uncomfortably and ran. Lúthien saw his shadow and heard the rustling of leaves. She vowed to herself then and there that she would discover him and see his true face.


	5. Chapter 5 The First Meeting

Five

The First Meeting

Beren finally spoke to the Elvin-maid on the very eve of spring. She had not come for many weeks, and he had begun to waver in his hope that she would come ever again, but she did. This time, she came alone to find whoever it was that was stalking her. She was terrified. In all her years, this was the first time that she had ever dared to leave the Caves entirely alone. As much as she desperately desired it, she had often lost courage. She dreamed of going beyond Doriath's borders, but Daeron would venture no further than the Girdle of Melian. She knew that her strange admirer would not appear in the presence of another, and so here she was despite her doubts.

While she waited for him to appear, she sang to gather her strength and resolve. Her song was heart piercing. So for a while, Beren could only listen to her song. Lúthien's voice was the voice of a Maia's. Therefore, it was fairer and clearer than a woman's or even an Elf-maiden's. Her mother had taught her songs of power and trained her to use her voice. She sang one of these songs of power now. It was a spring song. The whole wood and everything in it seemed to respond. Wherever her feet touched, flowers sprang into bloom.

The song also had an affect upon Beren. His spirit seemed to be renewed, as it had been the first time he saw the Elf-woman dance. He found his courage again. Suddenly, he stepped out of his hiding place, and the light of the moon fell upon him. He was struck with a feeling of exposure and fear, and his senses told him to flee. He had never meant to appear before the maiden again, and it was a great shock to him, and he frightened Lúthien badly. She sprang away from him, her song cut short. Then she stared at him, wide-eyed, unable to flee herself.

Beren was afraid she would run from him again, and he fell to his knees and covered his head, crying, "Please! I will not harm you!" Despite his pleas, the maiden, now having no doubt that he was a Man tall and strong, ran toward her horse. But then Beren sprang lightly to his feet.

"Tinúviel! Tinúviel!"

Beren called after her in a clear, ringing voice. The woods echoed the name all about them. The place did queer things to sound. For a moment Beren wondered if the gods themselves had heard.

The Elvin-maid stood frozen and unbreathing and ran no more. She marveled at the fact that this Man could know her tongue. But it was the name itself that delayed her. She had heard that name before, but she could not place where. She slowly turned around and took a deep breath. There was suspicion drawn upon her face. Suspicion, and beneath it there was genuine curiosity. She studied him from head to toe with a hint of awe. After all, she had never really seen a Man before, but she avoided looking into his eyes. She remembered the promise that she had made to her father long ago, and she remembered the warning that went along with it.

In her eyes, Beren was an anomaly and far different than she would have imagined one of his race to look. He was bulkier than most Elves, his height acceptable but not terribly tall either. He was only about an inch taller than her. All males of any race were dwarfs compared to her father, however, so she was a poor judge of proper height and knew it. She found it rather pleasant that she did not have to strain her neck to see his face. He had lean muscle upon him and strong legs and arms. His hair was long and unkempt, and there was a bit of stubble growing upon his chin due to negligence.

She was tempted to touch his face to feel what hair upon a person's face was like. Elves could not grow beards, and she had never been half so interested in the Naugrims' beards. The Naugrim was entirely unlike the Eldar and grew their beards until they reached the floor. Lúthien would tease them sometimes as a little girl and was tempted to tug on theirs beards, but to touch a dwarf's beard was not a prerogative of even a princess. They were stingy about their beards. Thanks to her charm, some of them made an exception to that rule just for her.

His beginnings of a beard were not repulsive to her, though it made him appear older than he truly was. The hair upon his head and chin were raven-black and shaggy. It was a fine, lustrous color and only needed the refinement of a good wash and a combing. She could not see his ears because they were hidden behind so many tendrils of hair. Her father had told her Man-ears were round, and she longed to know the truth of the tale. It was impossible to be certain, but she guessed that he was young for his kind. She heard that their hair turned gray and then white with age, their skin yellowed and became like thin parchment and wrinkled like dried fruit. He showed few signs of such age. Instead of rather 'feminine' looks, he possessed rugged features. He had a finely chiseled nose, thick eyebrows, and a scar here and there. He defined the word 'handsome' rather than 'fair' or 'beautiful' which would have been said of Eldalië males. The differences did not bother her at all. If anything, they had the opposite effect. Her hand must have been trembling with excitement.

As for his garb, it was plain, worn with age and rough weather, and strictly for survival purposes rather than for decoration. He wore what once must have been a scarlet, short-sleeved tunic that was faded with age and travel, brown pants and a brown cloak made of wool. The earthen colors kept him camouflaged and the cheap material kept him reasonably warm. He also wore brown leather gloves over his hands and brown boots made of even courser and tougher leather. Over his shoulder was a pack made of deer-hide likely filled with basic emergency supplies and gear. He seemed to carry no weapons, but she was not going to assume that it was truly so. Such an assumption was dangerous.

"Who are you, vagabond?" she demanded, using her most authoritative voice. "What do you want of me?"

"My good woman-"

"Make no mistake, stranger! I am not a Woman!"

"Forgive me, milady. Of course you are not a Woman."

This was the first time in years that Beren had close contact with a like being. It would take time to recall lessons from youth and such things as welcoming another and making proper introductions. Much of his time had been spent in informal solitude. It was also hard to speak with the maiden's penetrating gray eyes upon him, scrutinizing his every move and carefully interpreting his every word.

He had never been this close to her, save on the first night when he risked touching her arm. Her back had been to him too. He had always been at a safe distance since. He took his chance to study her again. She was even lovelier up close. Her skin was smooth and flawless. She was small-boned and seemingly delicate. She had an oval shaped face, high cheekbones, a narrow nose, and full lips. Everything was the perfect size and shape and was feminine in every way. Her lips were soft and pink, her eyebrows thin and her eyelashes thick. Her ears were pointed, like all Elves, and yet she did not seem elvish. There was something more to it than that. Her piercing gray eyes seemed to glow with heartbreaking innocence and an otherworldly wisdom all at once, which was maddening. The age of an Elf usually showed in their eyes, but not in hers. They could be a window upon her thoughts and emotions, or a gray veil if she willed it. A bright light seemed to shine about her, an inner light.

Her favored color was dark blue, but she was also fond of red and white. Black, too, could become her. She wore black this night, a black robe hemmed with silver and detailed with a myriad of silver stars and the moon in all his stages. They were made so that the moonlight enhanced them. She also wore a silver circlet about her brow rather than gold. Other than that, she wore no ornaments, and her feet were bare. She moved with a dancer's grace and moved more soundlessly and more lightly than any Elf because she was the daughter of Melian. Shoes were more for decoration than for protection. Sturdy boots were only needed for long journeys across rugged terrain. She seldom bound her hair, though when she did she wore it either in one plait or in seven braids. She wore seven braids tonight.

Beren took a step forward. He should not have been so hasty coming toward her, because her eyes dilated all the more, and she sprang back again. She drew a sickle dagger that she had hidden within the folds of her cloak, and it glinted and shimmered in the moonlight, and her eyes flashed. It was the only weapon she was permitted to wield, hardly a fearsome weapon but deadly in her clever hands. Mablung had taught her to toss knives and to fight with one at close range with a foe. Her dancing feet, light weight, and incredible speed gave her an edge as well.

"Stay back!" she warned. "I am fiercer than I look! I shall gut you before you can lay hands upon me, knave!"

There was a tense moment, and Beren took a couple spaces back.

"Are you not a Man?" the maiden demanded harshly, saying the word as though it were a curse.

"Yes. Are you not of the Elvin-kindred?" Beren asked with the same tone.

Lúthien suddenly leaped forward. With speed and grace that outmatched Beren's own, she came up from behind him and had him at knife point. Beren held up his hands and sank to his knees.

"I am not here to harm you, woman!" he cried.

She almost let the knife slip and hollered, "For the last time, I AM NOT A WOMAN!"

"No, milady!"

"Now who are you? Whence came you? What is your purpose here? How did you get here? Whom do you serve, and what do you want with me?"

"Which question should I answer first?"

"Whichever one you choose!" she said in annoyance. "Speak quickly or I shall water the new grass with your blood!"

"My name is Beren and I did not mean to frighten you. I am the son of Barahir Lord of the house of Bëor."

The Elvin-maid paused for a moment. She had heard Beren's name before in song, songs that she had learned and sang now and then, and she remembered one such ballad that praised him for the deed of slaying Orcs. Any enemy of the Orcs would be friends to the Elves. His father Barahir was also well known, but she continued to interrogate him.

"What are you doing here?" she repeated.

"Searching, that is all."

"A rather vague answer!"

"The details behind it are so, Milady."

"How did you get here?"

"I do not know myself!"

"Still vague. The next answer will not be so. I will not tolerate it! Whom do you serve?"

"King Finrod! Now listen, I am a friend to your people-"

"Finrod is king of the Noldoli!" Lúthien corrected sharply. "They are a kin alien to me! You do not serve me or my Father!"

Despite her words, the name Finrod stayed her hand and she let down the knife.

"I have not come to hurt you, Tinúviel."

"Tinúviel?" she sounded more curious than demanding now. "Why do you call me Tinúviel?"

"I felt that the name fit you somehow."

"It is a beautiful name," she said. "I shall be Tinúviel. I cannot improve upon yours, however."

He had to laugh. "Beren you prefer, and Beren I will be."

She slowly sheathed her dagger.

"The name means-"

"Nightingale and daughter of the twilight. Yes," the Elvin-maid smiled. "I know. But how comes it that you know my tongue?"

"When I was a child, my father spent much time hunting or fighting off Orcs at the border for King Finrod. I was fostered by the Elves, and they taught me much that I know. That included learning the Elvin languages," Beren explained. "The Elves used to tell my father that I was a master of tongues and speech, but please. I would like to know your real name."

"Well, so far, you have not tried to harm me. I suppose I can trust you. The name is Lúthien," the Elvin-maid told him, bowing her head in courtesy. "But you may call me Tinúviel. I may keep it as a nickname, for the children of the Eldar may choose their own names."

"Lúthien daughter of King Thingol and Melian the Maia?" Beren asked.

"Yes. I am Lúthien princess of the Sindar," she stepped into a full bow, laughing. "But how could a mortal know my title?"

"I have heard many tales about you. The Noldor loved to tell me stories about some of their own kin."

"The Noldor love to gossip! It seems that they do not know what else they can do with their tongues, that is, if they are not cut out in the battles they stir."

"Well, they told me many things, but even the most exaggerated tales do not come close to describing your beauty, Tinúviel. Your eyes are like the lamps of the heavens, though they are gray as the unclouded twilight. Your laughter is like water falling upon stones, hair as dark as the night. I almost mistook you to be Elbereth herself."

"Well!" Lúthien laughed. "I see that some of your greatest deeds have not yet been recorded in the tales we have heard! You are a poet as well as the greatest hunter the world has seen! I do wish you would go on, but I think we would be standing here from spring to summer listening to your lyrics! So now you are a warrior, a hunter, and an artist. What other skills are you hiding? I am impressed!"

"It amazes me as well. I suppose I was inspired to make art recently."

"Tell me, son of Barahir: How did you get here? My Father does not allow Men into Doriath, and he makes certain that they cannot enter. He despises Men. Sharp-eyed bowmen guard all the paths that lead here, and no one can pass through my Mother's Girdle unless she wills it. I do not understand how you could have passed through it unscathed. Any other living creature would be lost forever passing through."

"Frankly, Lady, I did not know that I came hence until you named it. I came here by the paths of Dungortheb and lost myself. But I do not want to speak of that dreadful place now."

"Yes, of course. I understand. I have heard many tales about that path. We may speak of something else."

Lúthien did not bring up that subject again, but she spoke to Beren now with the greatest respect and awe. How could this lone Man have braved such a journey? And for what reason? He has little provisions with him. He has been hiding in these woods since last spring. Why? Does he even know himself?

"You are very brave, milord," she said. "Perhaps it simply was your courage that allowed you to pass through my Mother's Girdle. There may be other reasons, of course, but I do not know them and will not debate with the scholars and theologians."

"I did not even know of such a Girdle! I was the first living Man to pass into the Hidden Kingdom, and I did not even know it!"

"Few Men know of it, Beren, and it should remain so. We have been sworn to secrecy. Now that you are here, however, I am afraid that the Hidden Kingdom shall be secret no more. I shall have to kill you," Lúthien teased.

She drew her sickle knife, and Beren pretended to beg for mercy.

"Nay. I will guard the secret with my life."

Lúthien smiled and answered, "I shall kill you later. I have little desire to kill an honest man."

"Gorlim and all the others were right. There truly was a kingdom in these forests."

"Who is Gorlim? He was one of your companions, was he not? Gorlim the unhappy?"

"He was grieved. After all, he lost his father to war, and then he lost his wife."

"What do you mean by lost? Did he ever find her?"

Beren sighed and said, "If I were to tell you, I would be referring to ancient times. That at least is how it feels to me, even though it was only a few years ago that our company was demolished. I am not sure that you would like to listen to unpleasant stories."

"I am not sure, or is it you that is unsure?"

"I have already lived the tale, telling it would only upset you."

"No, please, tell me. I have heard of your father and his company. They are, after all, great allies of King Finrod, and we are on friendly terms with him still, despite my words earlier."

"You know Finrod intimately?"

"Well, one day I may be expected to rule and renew our alliance with him. But do not change the subject. Tell me about Gorlim."

"Very well."

Then Beren told Lúthien about his father and the Men of Dorthonion, and of the ensnaring of Gorlim.

"Alas that Sauron has ensnared many others like Gorlim in such a way!" Lúthien said when he was finished. "We hope one day to punish him for all the hurts he has caused us. But in the beginning, he was not wholly evil. It was Morgoth that perverted him, and it is he that has caused suffering to us all."

"Suffering? The life of any man is full of nothing but suffering, if not by Sauron's hand than something else."

"There must be some respite for you."

"Tell that to my people."

Lúthien bowed her head and then asked, "What happened to your women and children?"

"Slaughtered by Orcs. Only a dozen or so survived, women and several children."

"I am very sorry for your loss, Beren. I do not know what I can say to ease your burden."

Beren said after a long pause, "Lady, I must thank you for your gentle concern. You have been a comfort to me. You have brought more relief to my wounds than my sword has. I have killed countless Orcs with her, and it only calmed my rage."

Lúthien answered, "It has been my pleasure, Beren, to help you in your need. Yet I must admit that I do not believe a sword can heal your hurts. Shedding tears is better than shedding blood."

There was a long silence. Lúthien cast down her eyes, but Beren did not take his eyes off her. He placed his hand in hers, and tears fell from his eyes. It was strange, for Beren had not wept for four years now. He had been unable to weep. But as he spoke now of his father, he was unable to hold tears back.

"I loved my father," he said quietly. "I know that for certain now. He had been a stranger to me as a boy, and after he sent my Mother away from us, I gave him naught but bitter words. I regret it now."

"I am sure your father does not grudge you of that, wherever he may be."

"Do you know where he has gone? I asked the Noldor many times where Men go when they die. Elves go to the Halls of Mandos. That I know. But what of my people who are also Children of Ilúvatar?"

"I cannot answer that any more than the Noldor can. I was born here in Doriath, not in Valinor. We do not know where Men eventually turn up. It is all only speculation."

Beren turned his head.

"I have heard many tales about you also, Beren," Lúthien told him, changing the subject. "Mostly in songs. They say you may be the greatest hunter that has yet lived. I wonder if that is true."

"Would you like to judge my arching skills for your own?"

Lúthien raised an eyebrow with interest and nodded. Beren loosened his bow and set an arrow to it.

"With your elvish eyes, can you see that tree there? The one with two trunks?"

"Aye."

"That is my target."

"It must be nothing more than a blur to you!"

"It is, but I do not use sight alone for aim."

Beren loosened his bow with a twang, and the arrow whistled toward its mark. Lúthien squinted and saw that Beren had hit the heart of the tree. She clapped her hands in praise. He took out another arrow, ran his mouth over the feather, and took aim again.

"Are you aiming for the tree again?"

"That arrow. I can split it right down the middle."

"Your sight is not keen enough for-"

Twang. The arrow passed out of mortal sight, but Lúthien saw it splinter into the first arrow. She looked at Beren with amazement and new respect, and he smiled and slung his bow over his shoulder.

"How do you judge my skill?"

"My Father would make you chief of his archers if he could see the glory of your skill," said Lúthien, abashed.

"Would you like to try?" Beren held his bow out to her.

Lúthien laughed and said, "I am afraid that bow is far too large for me!"

"Very well. Hunting is much more than a sport for me."

"But what sort of game have you been hunting here?" Lúthien asked as Beren put away his bow and quiver. "Certainly not Orcs or other creatures of Morgoth? If so, you should leave Doriath. No such foulness can set foot on this soil. It belongs to my Mother, and it is well protected by her Girdle, no matter what my Father says. There is no such errand for you here. Besides, if another Elf were to spot you, he may mistake you for a spy and kill you before you could convince him otherwise, or are you here to hunt some special game?"

"I hunt only Orcs and beasts that serve Morgoth. Never do I hunt animals," Beren replied, melancholy again. "I have slain Orcs near your borders. Perhaps it is not quite as safe as you believe. But I was hunting for something else."

"What?"

Beren hesitated, but he looked into her face, full of concern, and her voice seemed to caress him, so he answered "I am hunting for substance, for reason, for my life since my father and all of my House was murdered. One of those was Hathaldir, a cousin of mine, but I considered him a little brother. He had suffered a death worse than he could ever deserve. He was a determined fighter and loyal to a fault, but he was a boy. He was an innocent. I bear the guilt that I had not been murdered along with them. I have tried to take my own life several times, but something stopped me each time. My father had sent me to spy upon our enemies. Hathaldir had wished to go in my place. He was always so eager to please, but I was against it."

"You blame yourself for their deaths. You must not. Why would you want to die? All life is precious, and your life is your own."

"My life has not seemed precious. I often wonder why I was spared, and I wonder, if life is so precious, why is it taken away so easily?"

"All I know is that if you were spared, it was not without a powerful reason."

"What would an Elf know of a Man's troubles, especially in matters of life and death?" Beren said too harshly. He had confessed much more than he had intended and regretted for a moment even speaking of his griefs. "You told me you know nothing of our fate."

Lúthien hesitated. "You are right. I know nothing of your kind. But I am willing to learn. Teach me."

"No. Perhaps you are right, Tinúviel. I imagine you have been upon this earth many more years than I. Besides, I no longer desire to die. For now I believe I have found what I was searching for and more than I had ever imagined."

"And what might that be?"

"Oh, if only you knew," Beren answered. "So, you are not going to run away from me as you did before, are you?"

She quickly changed tones. "Why did you follow me the last time I came here?" she demanded. "Do you know how alarming it can be to find someone spying on you, especially when it is someone you do not know and do not know their intentions?"

"I know I frightened you, but I meant no harm. You see, I love to watch you dance, and I have long desired to ask you something," Beren said, drawing close to her.

"What is that?"

"Fair Lady Tinúviel, would you be willing to teach me to dance?"

At this, Lúthien laughed. She had never expected such a request.

"You wish to learn how to dance?"

"If you would be willing to teach me, I could learn."

"It is not as easy as it looks. Are you that keen to learn?"

"Absolutely. You seem to enjoy dancing. You dance as though you had no troubles."

"That is not true," Lúthien laughed. "I have more troubles than you may realize. But, yes, I love dancing."

"I would like to give it a try. They danced in Nargothrond as well, but I never went in for that sort of thing."

"I will teach you to dance if you teach me of your kin. Do we have a deal?"

"Deal."

"I wonder, do they ever dance beyond the Bitter Hills?"

"No. You must pardon me, for I have never tried to dance before."

"I can understand that. Watch carefully and repeat what I do."

With that, Lúthien began showing Beren all the steps of the song. Beren imitated her as well as he could. Once Lúthien was satisfied with his progress, she began singing the tune and clapped the rhythms and watched as Beren made an attempt to dance. At one point, however, he made a mistake trying to manage a difficult step, and he fell. Lúthien could not help laughing, and Beren did not mind. He began laughing at himself. Then Lúthien helped him up onto his feet.

"Do not think I meant to laugh at you, Beren, but you reminded me of myself when my mother was teaching me to dance," Lúthien said. "I was only a little Elvin-child. I was not so graceful as a little babe. In fact, you are doing rather well for your first lesson. I tripped and fell every time I attempted that step and I would end the lesson near tears. I thought I would never learn to dance like my Mother. But I mastered it, and I felt like I was flying rather than just following steps. Then I danced before the court and they all agreed that I was the greatest dancer they had ever seen."

"That is not too hard to believe. No one succeeds their first time. They must taste the bitterness of failure before they do."

Lúthien began looking toward the sky. The stars were beginning to disappear and the horizon was becoming brighter. The dawn was soon to break, and she would have to return to the caves. She did not desire to leave. Beren was the first Man she had met in all her days, and he loved her dancing. He was also very kind and intriguing to her. He was not at all the way her father described the race of Men to be. Beren was not at all a monster. She knew that she would have to return to the Caves. She was expected.

"Come, Tinúviel," Beren said, and he snatched her hand suddenly, and Lúthien trembled at the touch. "Dance with me!"

He spun her about, and she laughed. "I must admit that you are a good student," she said, but she broke away from him and whistled for her horse. "My Father will worry if I do not come home before the dawn. I, being his daughter, know that he would probably send a hunting party after me if I did not arrive by then."

"When will you come back here to Esgalduin?"

Lúthien heaved a sigh and stroked her horse. "I can never be sure, Beren. My Father does not like it when I come here. It is so close to the borders of our land and just a few miles away from my mother's Girdle. He still believes that the Girdle could be broken, and that the servants of Morgoth could destroy Doriath. And he always says to me: There are many perils in the world besides Morgoth. And these perils you may know nothing about."

"What of Daeron? That is what you told him, is it not?"

"How much did you overhear when we spoke?"

"I learned he was a little protective of you."

"Yes. I am afraid that is true."

"Is he a kinsman, or something more?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"It seemed as though you two are courted."

"No!" Lúthien said too sharply. "What an outrageous notion! But he is waiting for me at this very moment at the gate of Menegroth! If I am but a minute late he will search for me and may even find you. I apologize for the way I reacted when you first appeared, but most of the Sindar would not have given you a chance to defend yourself. I have to leave now!"

"But will you return?"

Lúthien hesitated, a little uncomfortable with the question. Then she answered, "I will try. We had a deal after all."

He had a sudden feeling that if he allowed her to leave now, she would not return, and he said "How long must I wait for you?"

"I told you: I do not know, but I have enjoyed your company. I hope that you find the thing you were searching for, Beren. You seem like a man worthy of it."

"But I have already found the thing I was searching for, Tinúviel. That is why you must come back as soon as you can. You must teach me more," Beren insisted. "Promise?"

"Very well," she consented. "I think I will come here once again within the month, but do not cling to false hope. I said I think I shall come, for now that spring has come to Doriath, there shall be many things that the Princess must do."

"Thank you. Even an unsure answer such as this is heart lightening."

Even though she had spoken of leaving with great haste, Lúthien found herself hesitating. She felt his gaze upon her. Though she had kept her promise and avoided matching her eyes with his, she had been aware of them every moment he was near. Then Beren pulled her to him so suddenly that it startled her and put his arms around her. She was shocked at first, but then she grew afraid.

"Something has been nagging me," Beren said.

"Daeron is certainly searching for me by now. If he finds you-"

"Do not be afraid."

She was about to say, I am not afraid, and remembered her dream sharply. "I must leave now," she said quietly, casting down her eyes. "Please let go. This is unnecessary."

But Beren did not let go. He only held her more tightly.

"Why will you not look into my eyes?" he asked. "All night, you have never once looked into my eyes."

"My Father . . ."

Beren cupped her face in his hands and pulled her toward him so that they were inches apart. At first she closed her eyes. Then she sighed and decided there could be no harm in looking into his eyes. What possible danger could there be? She was amazed when she did. His eyes were unusually bright, and they were stormy gray. They struck her with remembrance. This was the Man that she saw constantly in her dreams since she was a child!

Of course, she was a thousand times more terrified of him than she ever had been before.

"Oh!" she said in a little voice.

"What is it?"

"I must go."

"Did I say something wrong, Tinúviel?"

"That name, Tinúviel. I have heard it before! Do you not have some other name?"

"What do you mean?"

"Are you called Echermion or Camlost perhaps?"

"No! My name is Beren and Beren only."

"But that is not what you called yourself in my dream!"

Beren suddenly took her hands in his and cried, "I know now that you were in my dreams as well!"

"No!" she shook her head. "My name is Lúthien, not Tinúviel, and you are not Echermion!"

"You are afraid!"

"Is that what you want?"

"I did not want to frighten you. I do not want you to be afraid of me."

And then Beren leaned in to kiss her. She had long since known what he was attempting and gasped. In a panic, she slipped out from under his arms and mounted her horse quickly.

"I am sorry," she said. "I must go!"

"No, Tinúviel, wait!" Beren called after her.

The way he spoke that name halted her. She looked back at him, and Beren could see she was in great anguish.

"It is not my choice."

"Whose choice is it then?"

"I do not know!" she cried. "I do not know whose choice it is! I do not believe that I have been given free will in this matter!"

She hesitated and sighed, and Beren took a step toward her, torn at the sight of her distress. But Lúthien recovered at once, and she no longer hesitated. She drew her dagger again.

"Stay," he begged.

She shook her head and said, "I cannot. You- What do you want from me? You, you are a mortal. Whoever heard . . ."

She trailed off, and Beren took another step forward.

"I know it is unheard of: A mortal and immortal, but I do not care. I do not care who you are whether you be Valier, Elf-maid, or Woman. I assure you that if you leave now, I will die. Perhaps I will not be dead tonight, or tomorrow, but some way or another death shall find me, and I will not resist it."

"I cannot listen to this!" Lúthien rasped. "Why are you trying to ensnare me?"

"Is that what you think I am? Some trick for your ensnaring? I assure you that I am no servant of the Enemy. I am a bitter foe of Morgoth, nor are there others of my kind ready to spring at you at unawares, for my kin are dead, and I am alone here. I wandered like a mindless animal, and not until I saw you did I master the darkness in my heart. You see? My life is short as it is. You cannot leave me now. I have not much hope left."

Lúthien had heard every word, and she knew he was sincere. In the moment that she paused, Beren caught her hand in his and helped her down from Iavas. He kissed her hand and put his arms about her again, clasping her close. She did not draw away, but she trembled, and she had the deepest look of confusion and distress. Beren understood.

He released her, saying, "I see that I cannot win your heart with words. I am only mortal, and I am clumsy with words. Go now, if you will, but know that my life goes with you."

Lúthien stared into his eyes for a long while, amazed, then she slipped from his arms again and left, but the anguish she felt was growing steadily worse. Beren watched her go, passing like a dream.

"Ere Spring is born, the Spring hath died!" he cried.


	6. Chapter 6 The Choice of Luthien

Six

The Choice Of Lúthien

Lúthien had heard Beren's words, but she did not stop or look back. She rode straight to the bridge of Menegroth where Daeron was awaiting her. She dismounted Iavas, and he took the reins. She did not turn to face him or thank him. She only wished to return to her bedchamber and remain alone.

"Lúthien?" Daeron was not about to let her storm off on him, sensing trouble.

"Let me alone."

"You are merry, highness."

"Do not call me that. You are a minstrel, not a jester!"

"Did you enjoy your visit to Esgalduin?"

"I suppose," she said curtly.

"I wish I could have gone with you. You know how beautiful the forest is during our spring sessions. Why did you go alone?"

"I guess my curiosity got the better of me."

Daeron looked into her face. She was very pale.

"Are you all right?"

"Yes, Daeron. I am fine. I just feel a little . . . strange."

Daeron snatched her by the arm before she could run from him. "Did something happen to you out there?"

"No. I was startled by some odd sounds that I heard. I rode back to the Caves immediately. You know what happened last summer."

"All too well, Lúthien! All too well! That is why I did not feel too comfortable when you told me you needed to go alone this time."

"It is nothing to worry about."

"You are still leaving something out. You usually tell me everything. Have I done something wrong?"

Lúthien pulled away from him and turned her back in shame, "No, you have done nothing wrong. I am the one that has done something wrong. I wanted to go alone so that I might solve the mystery of who was spying on me," she then told him very slowly. "And I found him."

"What? You went out there alone hoping to meet into peril?"

"The man was the one that pursued me that summer. He said so himself."

"A Man? What did he do to you? Did he frighten you? Did he hurt you?"

"Hurt me?" Lúthien could not help chuckling. "Far from it! He tried to kiss me!"

Daeron was greatly troubled at this. "He tried but he did not succeed?"

"No I pulled away."

Daeron let out his breath in relief and asked, "Did he give you any explanation as to why he was stalking you?"

"Yes, he did. He stumbled upon us that night by accident. He has nowhere to go so he has been keeping the borders free of Orcs. He also told me his name was Beren."

"How did he get here?"

"I only know he came here by the paths of Nan Dungortheb. Nan Dungortheb! Not many of our bravest warriors can speak that name without shivering! I think it is amazing that he could have trodden that path even unscathed."

"Or perhaps unchanged?" Daeron said grimly.

"What do you mean?"

"In the songs, Beren is described as a great hunter, but songs are merely tales that can be twisted and distorted. Minstrels do not often know the whole truth. As for me, I know nothing of his history. He could be dangerous."

"He is not dangerous!" Lúthien snapped.

"You do not know that for certain. He is an exile living like a hermit in the woods. Or perhaps like a madman. I do not want you going to the woods again."

"What do you mean? Are you giving me orders? I am not your servant, Daeron. I shall go where I please when I please."

"Will you make me this simple promise?"

"Promise?" she hissed at the mere mention of the word. "You seek to bind me by my words? Daeron, you have always protected me. Now you may rest from that burden. I am no longer a little girl. I will go to the woods if I desire, and you cannot tell me otherwise. If he had wanted to harm me in any way, he had all the chance to do so. I was alone with only my dagger at my side. He is very strong, much stronger than I ever could be. I would never have been able to stop him from killing me or worse. But he did nothing to harm me."

"Not all Men are evil," Daeron admitted. "A few good Men serve Finrod and become his most loyal subjects, are even accounted among the Elf-lords. Nor are the deeds of Húrin and Hour unaccounted. But I know that there are more that are crooked and villainous, as treacherous and as foul as your Father says. What if there are other Men in Neldoreth that we know nothing about? What if Beren led hundreds of Men into our kingdom?"

"You sound just like my Father," Lúthien groaned. "And you are beginning to sound more and more like him every day!"

"Speaking of your father, I must tell the king that a human has taken refuge in his woods. He does not belong in Doriath even if he is who he claims to be. Morgoth has a bounty upon his head and there is the edict to consider."

"No!" Lúthien burst.

"Why not?" Daeron stared at her.

"You must not tell my Father about him or what I did."

"Why not?" Daeron repeated. "What is it that you fear so much about the king?"

"I love my Father, and I try to be obedient to him in all he says. I know that he has a right to remove Beren from Doriath, but-"

"But what?"

"Beren is just one man. There can be no harm in letting him remain here. After all, he has seen the gate of Menegroth but did not enter. He has no desire to disturb the Sindar. In time he will leave. If my Father knew that I had gone to Neldoreth without an escort, he may never allow me to stray from Menegroth again! Do you have any idea what that would do to me?"

"Yes, Lúthien. I understand," Daeron sighed. "I will not tell Thingol anything you do not want me to tell him. But you must first promise me not to go back to the woods again alone."

"I do not have much of a choice, do I? I will promise, once you make a promise to keep this secret."

"Are you trying to protect this Man?"

"Promise!"

"Very well."

They shook hands.

"That a girl," Daeron kissed her on the cheek. "Now I will see you again tomorrow. You have not grown weary of me, have you?"

"Of course not! You know very well that you are always welcome, Daeron."

"Then I shall see you tomorrow! And if that Man ever tries to touch you again, I shall deal with him for you," Daeron said grimly, fingering his blade.

Lúthien watched him leave, shaking her head and laughing softly to herself. But as the day wore on, she was not laughing.

She began wondering about Beren. Had that poor, unfortunate mortal stayed in the woods or had he fled the moment she left him, fearing that she would raise an alarm? Was he gone from Beleriand forever or could he still be waiting in the woods to see her again? She knew that to answer these questions, she would have to go to him and break her promise to Daeron. Why did she make that promise so hastily? But she knew that she might not be breaking her promise to Daeron only. There was also her father and the things she had promised him. And after she went back on her word, what then? She could be risking much.

Everyone is trying to bind me here, she thought as she paced her chamber, either with promises and words of love or with guards and swords. Daeron and my Father love me, but their love has become a prison.

Hour by hour, a desire grew in her to return to him, and she anguished over it all through the next day. Lúthien tried to wave the feeling off and called a servant for wine and a light meal because she had forgotten to eat all day. When the food came, she almost sent it away. She had forgotten she had ordered food. Not wishing to insult her servant or the chef that made it, she sat down to eat it and found she had no appetite. Finally, she shoved it into a corner and began pacing again.

At first, Lúthien was not sure why she was feeling so awkward. She could not stop wondering where Beren was and what he could be doing at that moment.

What is this? She wondered. What is it I am feeling? It is not simply guilt, though it is part of it. Did he threaten to take his own life? Would I be responsible for that? His life is so short already! How long do mortals live anyway?

Lúthien had recognized Beren from her strange dream, and she remembered what her mother had said: Disaster. But then Lúthien would hear his voice telling her: Do not be afraid! The questions ran deeper and deeper until Lúthien was questioning everything she thought she knew. When morning came, she felt it in her blood and her guilt and thoughts railed more than ever against her. It could be only chance, fate, or perhaps some sort of evil enchantment set upon her for her ensnaring. Or could it be something else, something worse than all of the others?

Up until that night, she had never seen Beren's face, save a brief glance that one night when he had followed her through the woods right up to the gates of Menegroth, and then his face had been half-hidden by the leaves. Neither had she ever looked into his eyes, knowing that it was perilous to do so. But that brief moment that she had looked into his eyes had done something to her, made her feel something she had never felt before. She also began wondering what it would have been like if she had accepted that kiss.

I wanted him to kiss me, she realized after going over their meeting in her mind repeatedly. I wanted him to kiss me! And those eyes! When I saw them, I was put under some sort of spell! His voice was just as powerful! I think... I think I love him!

She was not certain she was in love. She knew only that she had to choose between these two: To cower in Menegroth and remain there, wondering if she had just thrown away the one chance for love and happiness she might ever have, or if she should return to Beren and risk a doom beyond her imagining.

Lúthien could neither sleep nor eat. She attempted to sleep, but her rest was uneasy and full of vagrant dreams in which she was searching for something. She could only lie awake, pondering the dreams she had that night and the nights aforetime. She knew that she had to choose whether she would return to Esgalduin or not. She was angry and confused, and she was also very downcast. She questioned herself and her own goodness. She even questioned Ilúvatar in her prayers, and she walked about the Caves alone, weighing her options and trying to come to a decision, but the more she mused, the harder the decision became. She tried to preoccupy herself with something else. Anything else. She walked silently down the hall and stared in fascination at the beautiful tapestries that graced the halls. They never ceased to amaze her. Her mother had woven the works of art, and she concentrated on the tapestry, trying to memorize every thread and stitch that was woven together, becoming the design that made that tapestry beautiful in its own unique way. Insignificant in themselves, yet all were woven together to shape the image of a tiny world.

Suddenly, she noticed something she had not seen before in passing. The feature was so small and obscure that it took a trained eye to see it and not to dismiss it. Everyone knew that the images of Melian were more than just works of art. They were woven riddles, images of past and present. A few were something more. They were prophecies inspired by the Maia's foresight. She concealed these within the tapestries and paintings, disguised as decoration. But Lúthien was her daughter, and this particular image struck a chord in her.

The tapestry was the replica of a flower garden, sewn with many delicate flowers and vines. Within the core of one of these flowers rested a bird, a nightingale. Lúthien drew closer, placing a hand upon the fabric. In the neighboring flower was a pair of gray eyes. This puzzled and fascinated Lúthien, and she wondered if she might find such oddities within the rest of her mother's works. Her curiosity was confirmed when she came upon the next one. It was an oil painting of Manwë and Varda sitting upon their thrones within their mighty tower. Once again, in the far right of the portrait was a window. Gazing out of the window, Lúthien was able to see the green hills of Valinor. The nightingale was little more than a tiny speck, and a youth with unclear features was chasing after it. Lúthien soon discovered that every single work her mother had created contained somewhere in them an image of a nightingale, usually accompanied by the Stranger. Within one of them, the youth lay as though sleeping face down. In the palm of his outstretched hand rested the nightingale. The little bird seemed wounded with a tear in its eye.

Daeron found her sitting by a pool of water that had been hollowed out in the Caves. She had her feet in the pool and was staring into the waters, deep in thought. Daeron could tell that she was in some sort of pain by instinct, and he sat down next to her, trying to sound cheerful. He asked what was troubling her, but she would not answer and seemed very agitated.

"Lúthien, what is the matter?" he asked again.

"Am I supposed to tell you everything that bothers me?" she demanded.

"As long as you want to tell me," he answered in surprise.

"Well, I do not want to talk about it."

"Then we do not have to, Lúthien."

He tried playing his pipe for her. Lúthien had always loved hearing Daeron play his pipe, but today, she only bowed her head and muttered to him that he was only making it worse. He could not understand how he could be hurting her.

"Lúthien," he said. "Something must be terribly wrong. You are not acting like yourself today."

"How should I act then?" Lúthien asked, throwing a stone into the pool.

She watched the ripples spread coldly, and Daeron changed the subject. When he left her, he cast one last glance at her and saw that she was weeping.

Lúthien was becoming greatly torn between the decisions she was trying to make. Her anguish was greater than the Eldar have known, and nothing eased it. Her thoughts increased it by the thousands. She wept and tore at her hair and studied the images of Menegroth until the Queen herself became alerted that the Princess was suffering some illness.

"Come, my child," she said with her aloof voice. "Let us do something with your hair."

If Lúthien had not been so distraught, she would have appeared amazed or in awe. Her mother was very different than anyone she knew, much different than her father. Lúthien felt no reserves showing her affection toward the King. The Queen was another matter. To some she appeared to be beautiful but daunting. The Sindar knew her as a wise ruler, but sometimes she seemed cold and callous. Yet the two enjoyed each other's company. Her mother had her tender moments. Sometimes no words were necessary between the mother and daughter. They shared the Maia blood so that her mother appeared to her when she most needed her though it seemed to be chance. This was one of those times.

The truth about Melian the Maia was that she feared to become too close to her daughter. She knew from the moment she met Thingol and bore Lúthien that both could be taken from her forever. The terrible realization of this often caused her to distance herself from them. She feared that because of such knowledge she might do or say something to only hasten such separation. Her love for her daughter was fierce and so losing her would be all the more painful.

Lúthien followed Melian to her bower. The Queen did not say a word to her but ordered the servants away and began to stroke her daughter's hair. It never ceased to amaze her how beautiful her daughter was. She almost remarked to her about it, then changed her mind and began to plait the long dark hair. Lúthien was told often enough she was beautiful. The girl knew it by now and accepted it gracefully. Lúthien felt half a child again and soaked up the warmth of her mother's touch. Her mother's hands seemed to have healing powers. She was calmed at last.

"Why are there nightingales in your art?" Lúthien blurted.

"Is that all you saw?" her mother betrayed nothing, as usual.

"There is more?"

"There is always more. You may see a nightingale, another may see a sparrow."

Lúthien was frustrated, "And what of the boy? I saw him, but not his face."

"He is whoever you wish him to be."

This conversation was getting her nowhere, though the questions still nagged at Lúthien. The two were silent for a while, then Lúthien spoke again.

"Mother, when you forsook Valinor and became my Father's wife, you made a great sacrifice. Did you ever regret it?"

"And why would you ask me such a question?" Melian asked, finishing her braid.

Lúthien did not answer for shame.

"You are troubled. That is all too plain, Lúthien. You are trying to make a grave decision, and you are not willing to tell me about it. You feel that what you could be doing is terribly wrong, perhaps even a sin."

"I cannot hide anything from you, can I, Mother?" Lúthien muttered. "You have guessed everything with great accuracy."

"Of course. It is very obvious, after all. You are in love."

Lúthien was in amazed and asked, "What should I do?"

"Whatever decision you make, I must not influence it. If you lack wisdom, you should ask Ilúvatar, and wisdom will be given to you."

"No, Mother, wait!" Lúthien called desperately as she moved toward the door. "Please just tell me. I cannot make my decision until you tell me something."

Melian let out a sigh. "Advice is a dangerous thing, especially when it comes to these matters."

"It is not direct advice that I am asking for. I know better than to ask that of you," Lúthien said with a hint of bitterness. "All I wish to know is if you regretted leaving Valinor and wedding my father."

"And you cannot decide without my own testimony?"

"Not unless I wrench my hair out of my head tonight pondering this choice over and over again."

Melian sighed again and sat down beside her daughter. Then she began stroking her hair again. She was caught off guard by such a question. She had never spoken of such things to anyone. Then she nodded.

"Very well, Lúthien. "Lúthien," she said gravely. "Coming to Middle-Earth was no mistake for me. Valinor was in turmoil, and I was in flight of my life, if you would remember. It turned out to be the beginning of a new life for me. I can return, but once I do, I can never come back. Your father and I were younger then, and he was an ambitious leader guiding his people desperately away from the threat of Morgoth. Our meeting was a mere chance meeting and yet it was not. It was in the very forest of Neldoreth. I was singing in the glades, visiting Middle-Earth for a while and was tending to my nightingales when he was beguiled by my voice. He wandered away from his people, forgetting his dream to return to Valinor. I thought him to be a very foolish child, for he did not know at all what I was. For a child of Ilúvatar to look upon a child of the Ainur so was blasphemy, and I thought of burning him alive, for I have such power, but I cast my cloak upon him, and the magic it concealed caused him to fall in a deep sleep. I had thought that would keep him away and teach him a lesson, but it did not. He found me again, and he clasped my hand. I do not know exactly what came over me, but I am now a devoted wife and a powerful queen. I am also waging war upon Morgoth, and I have a beautiful daughter as a blessing."

Lúthien smiled and embraced her mother and thought of the similarity between her mother's story and her own. Her father was an Elf, and Melian was a daughter of the Valar, one of the Divine Ones. Thingol was no more than an impulsive child of the Eldar to her. It was so with herself and Beren. Lúthien was a Half-Maia, a princess, an immortal, and Beren was a son of a lord of Men, a mortal and an exile. Some even called him an outlaw and dangerous. And another thing that struck Lúthien was where it had all began. It had all begun in Neldoreth, the union, her birth, the first meeting. It was more than happenstance in her mind.

"Now, do you see?" Melian said, her hands on her daughter's face. "Tell me, Lúthien: What do I have that I should ever regret?"

As the dusk approached the next day, the choice was made, and doom fell upon Lúthien. She rode back to Esgalduin, and Melian promised to conceal her absence. She had decided that she would find Beren. Her mother had not lied to her when she said that she was in love. She could not stand the anguish of it any longer. She, of course, had doubts whether or not she could be doing the right thing or for the right reasons. Looking upon the works of Melian, she wondered if it was at all possible if the nightingale was herself and the faceless boy was Beren. Her mother would certainly never tell her, but she knew she could not leave Beren in the wilderness alone, and Lúthien also had desired to come back to him all along.

Lúthien reached the woods, left her horse, and began searching for Beren, but after hours of searching, she could not find him. She was relieved and disappointed all at once, and she had given up all hope that she would ever see Beren again. A wave of sadness passed over her, stronger than the other emotions. She was surprised that tears came to her eyes. The thought of never seeing him again was nigh unbearable. She had wanted to see him again, if only to be sure that he was alive and well. Perhaps she should tell her father that he had been there and should start a search for him. Thingol's realm extended beyond Doriath's borders after all. He could be at risk to himself and the last thing she wanted was to see him dead.

Suddenly, she stumbled over something in the dark. She realized that it was Beren. He had not even felt her stumble over him. She wondered how long he had been lying there, and she could not tell if he was merely asleep or in a worse state. She placed her hand in his, and his hand was cold. Beren instinctively snapped out of his deep thoughts. When Lúthien had left him, he had merely fallen to his knees, a feeling of grief washing over him that was indescribable and inescapable. Startled, he tackled the thing that had been stooping over him. Then he drew out his knife and sprang to his feet and sprang at her.

"It is not wise to try to waylay an animal when they sleep," he hissed. "Predators only pretend to be in slumber. When their prey appears, they strike!"

Then the light of the moon and stars reflected off the blade and Beren saw that he had not tackled an enemy. His mouth fell open in surprise and he gasped and released her at once.

"Tinúviel! I almost killed you!"

"Almost killed me? Nonsense!" she snorted. "Knives are my only specialty when it comes to weapons. I could have disarmed you easily, but I trusted you not to strike. How long have you been here?"

"Since you left," he answered. "I do not know how long ago it was in truth."

"When did you last eat or drink?"

"I cannot remember."

"I am amazed that you are not dead already the way you manage yourself! You are like a child."

"Compared to you no doubt I must be."

She lifted his weary head to her breast and drew out a water-skin and put it to his lips. Then she gave him the food she had also brought and lifted him to his feet, and they walked together and spoke until the moon rose high into the sky and the stars began to fade. The night was nearly spent and the dawn approaching.

"I did not think you were ever going to come back here, Tinúviel," Beren told her. "You have come beyond my hope. Indeed, I had naught any hope left. I was ready to die here."

"Yet I proved you wrong. I have come and you are not dead fortunately. It would have been a great shame to lose such a worthy man, especially due to my actions."

"But why did you come back?"

"That is a question I had to have answered," Lúthien said gravely.

Then she grinned and kissed Beren on the mouth. He gaped at her once again with astonishment, enchanted by the elvish kiss. She had switched from fright to flirtation too quickly for his comfort. He reached out to her to brush his hand against her cheek, but she laughed and swung herself up onto the branch of a tree. She was back to flight as he had expected. Beren threw up his hands and sighed.

"Now where are you going? Did you come here to cast down my spirit for a second time? Why must you taunt me so? Do you take pleasure in tormenting me with desire?"

"You are the one that is tormenting me."

Lúthien became grave again, her look was almost grim, and she swooped down suddenly. Beren was startled and even a little afraid and stepped back. But Lúthien reached out and put his face in her hands.

"Tell me first if you truly are who you say you are," she said.

Beren drew out the ring of Finrod and placed it in her hand. She studied it closely in renewed wonder and then handed it back to him.

"That is King Finrod's seal," she said. "They say Men are clever thieves and do not stint at taking from their own dead. Even so, I am beginning to wonder if such harsh rumors could possibly be true. What you bear is the Ring of Finrod and I trust that you are the new keeper by blood right."

"You know your jewelry well. Is that proof enough of my identity?"

"Proof of your old identity. They say that you are no more than an outlaw at heart, broken from war and your wanderings. Are you still the man you once were?"

"I give you my word that I am Beren son of Barahir and I am far from broken!" his old pride was gradually returning to him.

"Should I trust your word? The word of a Man?"

"Yes. I give you my honest word in both the tongues of Men and Elves. What more could you ask of me?"

"Now tell me that you love me," she said.

"I love you," Beren answered without doubt or hesitation and tried to kiss her, but she drew back and sought refuge in the branches again.

She was still afraid of him, and this hurt him. Old habits died hard, she now realized. But perhaps the element of danger in this man was part of the reason she was drawn to him.

"You are torturing me."

"And you have cleaved my heart in two with the looks you give me," Lúthien answered.

"What must you sacrifice to see me?" Beren answered angrily. "You have nothing that you do not want and I could never take it from you!"

"You know that you are wrong," her eyes flashed, "and what are you sacrificing? Absolutely nothing! When you have nothing, you have nothing to lose. You cannot fall any farther from grace. I may be sacrificing all that I have. Long have I foreboded that I would come to a mysterious end, and you seem to be the doom I have been warned of countless times. Your voice alone has laid a spell on me, for I am here, but I almost wish to say I am not here willingly."

"Almost?"

"My feelings for you are perhaps unforgivable but undeniable, so strong that my thoughts become clouded and I act upon them desperately and immediately as I have not done since I was a child. Time seemed much shorter then for even the Eldar do not remain children for long. I do not yet know what will become of me or you for that matter. To my knowledge Man and Elf have never before crossed paths quite as you and I have, so intimately, despite the journeys behind us and no matter how long or short they have been. The consequences could be dire, but I cannot say that I can shirk responsibility should they come. Make no mistake, I am here of my own free will. You told me before that you had been hunting for something, and you did not know what it was. Am I right?"

"Yes. But now I know what I was hunting for all those years."

"I believe I know what it was also, but tell me anyway. What had you been hunting for, for so long and so desperately, son of Barahir?"

"It was you. That was the reason why I could pass through the Girdle. There was another force at work, and it was not chance. But I had not known it until now. Your face was always in a dark corner of my mind, the only light sustaining it though I tried to push it away. I became drunk on blood in order to forget, but I could not."

There was a silence then.

"What do you propose to do, highness?" Beren asked at last.

Lúthien looked at the paling sky and then came up with a marvelous idea. She nodded and glanced down upon Beren.

"I must give you this chance: If you catch me before the coming of dawn, then I will have no doubt that I did not come here just out of guilt or unreliable emotions, but there is some other force at work that wants us to be together. If you fail to catch me, I shall return to my home in Menegroth. I will tell my Father what sort of creature haunts his woods, and he shall remove you. Are you willing to take up such a hunt and prove yourself worthy, or is it too challenging for you?"

"I am willing to hunt for you."

"Then let me remind you: I am no Orc. It will not be so easy to catch me. Now close your eyes, and give me a head start, and a few minutes to set you the trail. I shall not be leaving these woods, and my horse is not to be used in any way for the hunt. These are the rules. And you must catch me, not tag me. Do you understand?"

"Yes," Beren nodded.

"Then close your eyes and tell me when I should start. But first: Can I trust you not to peek, Beren?"

"You can trust me, but should you blindfold me?"

"No, no!" Lúthien laughed. "Do not be so ridiculous! I trust to your words, Beren. I was only trying to humor you."

Beren turned his back to her and closed his eyes. He knew that this was a hunt unlike any other hunt he had experienced before, and it would be extremely difficult. It was also fatalistic. It was easy to hunt Orcs if you knew what they were like. Their trails were easy to follow. They loved to bruise the grass with ironclad shoes and cut down the plants around them. Lúthien was Elvin, and Elves hardly bent a blade of grass when they walked, and they were very speedy on foot. That was why Beren knew better than to chase after her all the time. But he knew that he loved Lúthien. She had always been taught to fear Men, and he knew that she must have been torn greatly by such differences in kindred. If this was how she wanted to test him, so be it. It was her own right.

"Go now," he shouted. "One . . . two . . . three, four five . . ." he began counting ever faster.

So the hunt began, and Lúthien wasted no time. She landed on the ground and began running. She left many false trails and other signs to confuse Beren. This would not be a simple game. If Lúthien was or was not caught, fate would catch up with her anyway. It was true, she was hoping to be caught, but she also feared it.

Beren opened his eyes and began searching the ground. Then he started along one of the trails Lúthien had taken, concentrating on every blade of grass and broken twig. It was hard to find the trails she had taken since she had changed directions many times. He stumbled over many of the signs, but he was on the right track. He was not called the greatest hunter of all time for nothing. He had discovered three different directions she had possibly taken. Two of them were very obvious, so he knew that he had to take the third track.

Lúthien slowed to a walk, knowing that Beren was still trying to work out where she had gone. She would begin running again only once Beren had caught up with her. So she hid once Beren had finally determined which trail Lúthien had taken.

Beren was being as silent as he could so that, if it were possible, he could creep up on Lúthien instead of having to chase after her. But Lúthien still heard him coming toward her hiding place. Once his back was turned to her, she lightly sprang up and caught a branch high above her head. Then she swung herself up onto the branch of the tree without the slightest sound or rustle of leaves. Then she let out an ear-piercing whistle.

Beren spun around to see her standing there. She was smiling down at him.

"Very impressive, Beren," she called down to him. "So the tales and the songs I have heard about you are indeed true. You are a skilled hunter after all."

"Tis true," Beren replied, grinning.

"Ah, yes. I see," Lúthien teased. "But you must have a weakness. If you do not, then you are not human. It is my job to discover that one fault of yours. Now you must catch me if you can, Beren! The dawn is not far off!"

She stepped down onto another tree branch and climbed into the next tree while Beren looked up at the sky. Lúthien was right. The dawn was less than an hour away. He had to catch her soon, or she would return to her home, and he would never see her again.

"Let us see how good a tree climber you are!" Lúthien challenged.

"Watch and learn, novice!"

Beren leapt onto a branch and climbed after her. She smiled and climbed higher. Soon, she had disappeared in the canopy of the trees. Beren reached the top and gazed around, but he could not see her. He poked his head up above the leaves. Lúthien had done the same, trying to find out how close Beren was. When she saw him, she gasped, giving herself away, for Beren heard her and espied her. Then she laughed, and her head disappeared below the leaves again.

Beren leapt onto her branch, and she jumped back with a startled cry and shrank against the bole of the tree. Then she laughed again. Beren reached out to grab her by the arm. If he did, the hunt would at last be over, and he would have won her heart forever, but Lúthien dodged him. Beren took a step forward and heard a crack.

"Great," he said in an undertone.

The branch was about to break! Lúthien jumped down onto the ground, landing smoothly on her feet only just in time. Beren had not been so quick, and the branch broke and he fell for the second time. He lay painfully upon the ground. Lúthien looked down upon him, smiling with triumph. Then she began running.

Beren cursed himself for not being faster. Now that Lúthien had begun running, he may not be able to catch her at all. But he at once rose to his feet and tore after her.

She looked back at him and laughed, and they both paused when they reached the river of Esgalduin. There seemed to be no impassable way across it save by swimming, and Beren thought that Lúthien had come to a dead end. But Lúthien looked into the waters and smiled. She turned back to Beren.

"I hope that you do not mind getting too wet!" she said. Then she dove into the waters. Beren did not hesitate. He jumped in after her. The water was icy cold, but that was not the thing that surprised Beren. The current was strong. It was much stronger than it had looked to be. He grabbed onto a fallen log and clung to it. Then he climbed up onto the shore and searched for Lúthien, but he did not see her. He waded into the waters, calling out for Lúthien and diving below, trying to find her. His fear was relieved when he saw Lúthien climb onto the other side of the river. She was shivering and wet. She only grinned and said, "Is that sunlight I see?"

Beren looked toward the east. Dawn was arriving, but there was no sun to be seen just yet. He looked back at Lúthien, but she had disappeared. Beren knew the behavior of his prey; Lúthien was clearly beginning to run out of tricks.

He managed to cross the river hastily on a few fallen logs this time, drenching himself in the cold water and near falling and drowning himself again. Once he crossed, he was exhausted and had little energy left, but he may have a greater chance to catch Lúthien. She was exhausted too. Her arms and leg muscles were aching, so she lay down to rest. Now she was too weary to run, and she did not bother hiding herself.

Lúthien closed her eyes, and then she felt something cold against her throat. She opened her eyes and saw it was Beren's dagger.

"The hunt is over," he said. "I have caught you, little bird. You cannot fly any longer, and the dawn has not yet arrived."

He lowered his head to kiss her, but then he hesitated. She had always drawn away from him before, but Lúthien noticed his hesitation and smiled.

"You have my permission to kiss me if you want to, Beren," she told him.

He brushed his lips across hers, a little timidly. He clutched her tightly, fearing that she would slip from his arms again and utterly shatter his spirit. She too drew back, and then he kissed her, almost greedily, but he can be forgiven. The swift progression of confessions after such a long wait was understandable. Lúthien no longer held back and no longer feared Beren.

"No fair!" she said. "You are a Man tall and strong and you are crushing me!"

She rolled on top of him, her shadowy hair falling upon his face. Beren lay as he was, paralyzed with disbelief and overcoming joy. Then she did what she had been longing to do all along. She touched his cheek and at last knew what fur upon a person's face was like. She giggled like a little girl and blushed, and Beren could not help but smile and blush just as red.

"Do you like it?" his eyes danced. "Because if you do not, I can always shave it. It will grow back if you change your mind."

"It is . . . different," she answered, brushing her cheek against his and giggling again. "It tickles!"

"So you would rather me shave it?"

"No, I mean, I think I like it."

Then she kissed him with equal passion. A touch against his lips and he opened his eyes to find her fingers tracing them ever so lightly.

"Lady."

"Tinúviel," she corrected patiently, with a hint of merriment.

"Tinúviel," he willingly complied, entranced by that light touch.

He could feel the color flood into his cheeks and she chuckled. "Wonders of wonders, this blushing, and all for me."


	7. Chapter 7 The Impossible Task

Seven

The Impossible Task

Daeron was having more and more difficulty finding Lúthien. It seemed that she was always busy. Whenever he came to call upon her, Melian said she was indisposed. She was sleeping by day because the only time she could sneak away from the Caves unnoticed was during the hours before dawn. She slipped through secret tunnels only one her size could fit through, if they only knew where to look. Some of the natural pathways of the Caves had been left alone instead of sealed off and were ignored or forgotten. Lúthien had learned to take advantage of that. As a girl she had explored every nook and groove of Menegroth and kept them a secret. She often amazed her parents when they summoned her and she answered so soon. When she got into more mischief than she could manage or wished to avoid a particular person, such as an obstinate suitor, she easily evaded them as well.

Before she had met Beren, Lúthien had never dared to leave the Caves alone. There was always someone with her. She had feared the notion of being completely and totally alone, but it no longer troubled her. Besides, she was not alone for long. She was soon joined by Beren. She left the Caves alone almost every night now, risking her father's wrath should he ever discover her actions. She was ashamed to admit, she derived a little pleasure from such blatant acts of rebellion.

As she climbed out of one of her tunnels, cold air with the scent of earth rushed upon her face, a refreshing feeling after the stagnant air of the Caves. Crickets sang in the dewy grass. She was as careful as possible not to step upon them. It was a breathless night and calm. It was still dark, and so she passed through the shadows on a dancer's feet. Excitement sharpened her senses and made her even quicker. She silently called for Iavas and the stallion snorted in his stall several hundred yards away. The master-of-horse let him loose to graze. The eccentric horse only seemed to want to feed at this time of day and had come to expect it. Iavas came to her and nuzzled at her, searching for treats. Lúthien always had apples and oats for her steed.

"Hullo, dear sister!" Daeron called cheerfully stepping out of the stables.

"Huh!" Lúthien gasped, startled. "Oh! Daeron! What are you doing here?"

"Looking for you. What else? Where have you been recently and where are you going now?" he asked. "Were you not going to sing at today's festival?"

"I suppose not. I am going outside Menegroth, and I may not be back in time. My voice has not been at its best lately. Some fresh air should do me good, and I do not want Iavas to become restless," she answered. "If he does not get his exercise, he becomes very unruly."

"Like you?"

Lúthien gave him a stern glance, even though she knew Daeron was not being serious.

"Very well then. May I ride with you?" Daeron asked. "After all, my horse could use exercise as well, and I could bring my pipe, and you could dance again. That was my original plan for tomorrow night, but why wait? I had to ask your father's permission, of course, but-"

"No, Daeron. You must play at the festival. The people shall be disappointed enough, and you are the greatest minstrel in Doriath. You could very well be the best. You should not squander away your talent playing your pipe for me alone. I do appreciate your offer, though."

"Are you sure you want to go alone? It is getting rather dark. There is no moon and not even a star out tonight and there is a mist hanging over the lands."

"And I am sure that all the wolves and goblins are crouching outside the stables waiting to seize me and devour me the moment I step away!" Lúthien said sarcastically. "Yes I am sure. I need to get away from the Caves, and the time of night is my greatest passion. You know that."

"You always want to get away from Menegroth!" Daeron narrowed his eyes.

"After forty thousand years of life in Menegroth, that should be of no surprise! I would leave Doriath forever, if only I could!"

"Why not leave?"

"Because it is all I know."

She felt horrible. She knew that she had been avoiding Daeron. The harsh fact that she had broken her promise to him was too hard to bear while she was around him. Otherwise, she would have loved to have him join her, but she was off to see Beren. If Daeron knew that Lúthien was off to see him, he would never forgive her, and neither would the entire realm of Doriath.

When she came upon the hill, Lúthien usually found Beren there waiting for her. Then her lover would rise and greet her with an eager kiss. He always gave her gifts he had made himself or taken from nature and she would bring him gifts of her own. They had a friendly competition to see what new and interesting things they could find to exchange. Lúthien's gifts were always lavish and expensive. She brought him specially tailored clothes of the brightest colors and of the highest fashion, jewelry, a finely crafted dagger, and all sorts of things. Beren showed proper appreciation for them, but he did not relish expensive gifts, for there was often no use for them. His clothing was quickly worn with wear and weather, he was more comfortable with his own weapons, and jewelry and the like were wasted in the wild. Her expensive gifts also caused his own to pale in comparison. Beren had to be especially creative because he had limited resources. What could you give to a girl that already has everything? Most often his gifts were things such as a colorful stone or feather, berries he had found, or a song he had heard in his wanderings. She always expressed joy and interest, however. She especially loved hearing his voice.

After the gifts, they sat hand-in hand and spoke of many things, matters of love mostly, but no subject was thought too silly or too inappropriate. They feared to keep secrets from one another and spoke for conversation's sake. Lúthien often asked about Beren's people. So curious she was, and he was equally curious about the Sindar, so different from their kin the Noldor that he had grown up with. They would sing songs until dusk. He sang songs of his people, sorrowful or full of hope. She sang of Nature, of the Eldar, and of Valinor. They continued their dancing lessons. Beren was a fast learner, for when they danced together, he had no trouble with his steps. He began teaching Lúthien new steps. They tramped the woods together, gathering fruit, berries, nuts, and herbs. Beren taught her much of wood-lore, for his skill rivaled even Beleg Strongbow's and longed to teach her hunting lore and the art of battle. With her silent but swift feet and her knife-throwing skills, he knew that she could accomplish much. Or they might just lie in each other's arms for hours, holding one another in silence as they gazed at the heavens.

These secret meetings continued from fair spring to golden summer. Lúthien could not ever remember feeling happier. Her anguish had been replaced with joy. None of the Children of Ilúvatar have felt such happiness. She was gone often from the Caves. She hated being away from Beren even if it was only a few hours time. Lúthien sang as she never had sung before and danced a more beautiful dance in Menegroth to let out her feelings. Daeron had never seen Lúthien so happy, and he told her this. He wondered what had caused such a change over her. He saw her less and less, and he began to wonder where she was going all the time. He missed her, but he decided not to question her in her happiness.

As for Beren, he had his life back and more. It seemed rather that he had been reborn. He had the love of Lúthien Tinúviel, fairest of all maids. He began to know the woods as he knew the palm of his hand. He felt blessed because of Lúthien, and he learned new lore from her, for she was Half-Maia and her father was a friend of Oromë's, and Beren's long years of wandering were forgotten and laughter welled from him as from a spring of music. His voice would sing as the voices of Doriath where the paths and floors were paved with flowers, and those months were indeed the happiest time of their lives, though the time was, sadly, brief. It could not last forever, and their short hour was almost spent.

Daeron was growing suspicious. He knew by now that Lúthien would leave without warning at dusk and would not return until dawn alone. Other times, she left at dawn and returned at dusk. This was even stranger to Daeron, for Lúthien almost never went out in the sunlight. The Sindarin was a people that lived by the light of the stars. That was how it had been in the Beginning before there was a sun and moon. Whenever Daeron asked Lúthien about it, she grew angry and refused to answer. Or was she perhaps afraid? Indeed, whenever Daeron questioned her about it, he noticed that she became evasive. She tried hard to mask her feelings, but she tried so hard that the effort was indiscreet and gave her away. One morning, Daeron decided to confront her and get the truth from her.

She had climbed into a beech near the Caves, and Daeron had trouble finding her, as usual. He was a little annoyed, but then he heard her laugh and saw her lying upon one of the great branches, a few flowers in her hands and forgot his anger for a moment.

"Hello, sister," he said to her in greeting.

Lúthien laughed and answered, "Good morning to you, brother."

"Would you please come down? You are always climbing trees! Ever since you were a little girl, it is all you would do. It is not proper for a lady."

"I am also Lúthien the maiden, and I love trees. I cannot help that," she answered, but she leaped down from the tree, landing on her feet in a sort of feline way with a similar grace and speed.

"Lúthien," he said softly, but firmly. "I am going to be frank. This has gone on long enough."

"What do you mean?"

"You know exactly what I mean! I want to know where you have been sneaking off to."

"I have told you millions of times, Daeron. I grow weary of repeating myself," she answered calmly, but her smile faded, and she narrowed her eyes. "I have only been a few leagues away from the city. I do not go much further."

"Nonsense! Where have you been sneaking off to?"

"I have not been sneaking anywhere."

"That is why you awake long before the dawn to prepare your horse alone? And why are you gone for so long?"

"Wherever I go and whatever I do is of no concern to you."

"How can you say that? How can you say that! What has come over you, Lúthien? Over the past few months, I have seen you less and less. Are you not more a sister to me than anything else? You seem to have changed altogether! I can hardly believe my ears! Where you go and what you do is no concern of mine? Are you mad!" Daeron cried aloud.

Lúthien turned her back to him, fighting back tears. She hated lying to Daeron, but she knew she could not tell him about how she had broken her promise to him or tell him about Beren.

"Daeron, please . . . "

"You must be mad! Indeed, you leave me to believe so!"

"Mad? Sometimes I wish it was so. But I am afraid it is much worse than that, Daeron."

"What would that be, Lúthien?"

She did not reply.

"Why have you been avoiding me?"

"I have not been avoiding you, Daeron. I just-"

"Just what?"

"I..." Lúthien made an attempt, but she sighed and cast her eyes down.

"Yes? Yes? Go on, Lúthien," Daeron said encouragingly.

"I cannot tell you, Daeron. It would be too dangerous for us."

"Us? Would that be you and I, Lúthien, or you and someone else?"

"Believe me," Lúthien said with a dry laugh. "You will not understand."

"I have always understood you, Lúthien. That is, until now. I know you better than anyone else ever could. Now, I am standing here, waiting for an answer. I shall wait all day if I have to."

She turned her back to him again, but Daeron forced her to turn around and face him.

"Where have you been going? I will not leave you alone until you answer me, and I mean it!"

"Daeron! Leave me!" Lúthien cried in anguish.

She could fight the tears no longer. They streamed down her cheeks before she could stop them. She wiped them away quickly and turned her back to Daeron once more, afraid for Daeron to see, but it was too late. Daeron had seen the tears and immediately shut his mouth.

"I am sorry, Lúthien."

"There is nothing that you have to be sorry about, Daeron." He reached out to comfort her, but she ordered again, "Leave me!"

"All right. I will leave you alone for now. But remember, Lúthien, I am here for you."

"So it is. For now."

"What do you mean by that?"

"I need to be alone right now, Daeron. So, please, just go."

Daeron walked away. He did not want to pressure Lúthien. He had not seen her break into tears for a long while. She was a fighter, and where that spirit came from, Daeron could only guess. But now he knew that Lúthien did want to tell him everything she was hiding from him, but she could not. Perhaps someone was restraining her from it? He realized that he could not get his answers from Lúthien. Not directly. He would be forced to take other measures.

Lúthien did not return to Esgalduin the next day. She remained in Menegroth and avoided Daeron, but she came back afterwards. The stars had just begun to sparkle in the cloudless night sky. Lúthien wandered through the trees until she arrived at the glades beside Esgalduin. Singing softly under her breath, she glanced up at the shimmering stars before sinking to the ground. She had often made to come here but had always been hindered. Tonight, however, was different, as the longing to visit had been too great to ignore. Leaning her head against the sturdy trunk of the tree, her thoughts began to wander. For the first time, Beren was not there waiting for her like he always had. She waited for him anxiously for a little while, but when he did not come, she decided that she would have to go looking for him. She was never very patient, and she was sure that he was forcing her to play games again, so she set off to find him.

"Beren?" she called. "Beren? Come out now! I am not going to play hide-and-seek with you! I am not in the mood!"

After walking through the forest and calling his name for a long while, she frowned.

"Beren! If you do not come out now then I shall leave, and I shall never come to see you again as long as I live!" she threatened. "And that will be forever! Do you hear me? Forever!"

But there was no answer, so Lúthien decided to return to her horse reluctantly. Perhaps if she rode through the forest for a while, Beren would hear and come. But when she came back to the place she had left Iavas, she realized that he was gone.

"Iavas?" She began whistling for him, but the horse did not come. Lúthien was not sure what had happened to her horse. She knew someone had taken him or frightened him off, but she was not sure whom. She began wondering what had happened to Beren also. She walked through the woods, calling for both of them.

At one moment, she saw the bushes begin to move. It startled her, and she froze.

"Beren? Is that you?" she called hopefully.

There was no answer, and the bushes stopped quivering. Lúthien moved on at a quicker pace, calling more frantically for Beren. Very soon, if she strained her elvish ears, she thought she could hear the faint echo of following footsteps.

Childhood fears were renewed in her once more. She remembered the Orcs, and she became very much afraid. She drew out her dagger and returned to the secret place.

Suddenly, she was grabbed from behind. A hand was clamped over her mouth as she let out a muffled cry. Her dagger was pried from her hand. Then she was pulled into a long kiss.

"Merciful Manwë! Beren!" she cried angrily when he finally broke away. "You must have robbed a hundred years off my life!"

Beren was stunned and said, "I am sorry. I did not mean to provoke you. What is wrong?"

"You! You followed me while I searched for you and you scared the life out of me when you moved around in the bushes."

"What are you talking about?" Beren asked, raising an eyebrow in confusion.

"You followed me around while I was looking for you."

"Tinúviel, I stayed right here. I had been asleep when you first came here, but your calls woke me up. I thought that you were leaving, so I called for Iavas, and he came running to me afterward. We have both been waiting for you since. I never left from here."

The lovers were silent for a while, and then Lúthien whistled for Iavas.

"I do not like this," she said gravely. "Whoever it may be, they were following me. They could even be watching us right now. I know that they only mean ill. I do not think it is safe for us to stay here together. It may be an Elf. If they were to see you . . . I will just come back here tomorrow for your sake."

"No," Beren grabbed her by the arm before she could mount her horse. "It may have been only an animal, and I did not see you yesterday. But if you do not believe so, then we can search the woods together. Do not leave quite yet. How comes it that I missed you yesterday, anyway?"

"I was in Menegroth. Daeron and I quarreled because he has become very suspicious, and never have we fought like . . . I will not stay here unless I know for certain that we are safe, and no one is watching us."

"Then climb up behind me on Iavas."

They searched the woods and found nothing. Lúthien was still a little unnerved, but she stayed there with Beren. Even if there still was someone in those woods, she was safe with him. So they began talking.

"Why were you so afraid, Tinúviel?" Beren asked.

"Because whatever stalked me made me think of Orcs. When I was very young," she began, "my Father and I were riding here in these woods, before Morgoth was loosed, before the Girdle was created to shield the realm. I was separated from Father, and I remember hearing something in the woods. I thought it was Elves, but it was Orcs. And they chased after me and spoke of Morgoth. I had never seen their like before. It was the first time that Orcs were ever seen in Beleriand. I was screaming for my Father, but he did not come. The Orcs would have taken me away, but Daeron rescued me. I made him promise not to tell anyone, fearing the consequences of it. I have not told anyone this tale."

"You have no need to fear Orcs anymore," Beren answered. "They know my name and shudder at the mere sound."

"Old fears are hard to set aside. Anyhow, tell me the truth of your kindred, Beren. Tell me about the race of Men. I know nothing of them, though I fell in love with one."

"What do you want to know? Could you truly tell me all you know about Elves? I was raised among Elves and pupiled by them, yet I cannot grasp what they are all about."

"Well, all Elves are different. You must understand that first."

"And so it is with Men."

Beren began telling Lúthien stories about the Men of Dorthonion, the company he had traveled with before they were murdered. If they had still been alive, they would have been very angry and very humiliated.

"Hathaldir was the youngest of our company," Beren was saying, "so my father sent him off on many small tasks. He came upon a few mushrooms while he was out scouting and made them into that night's meal. Of course, none of these mushrooms were meant to be eaten. We all became ill shortly afterwards. My father was furious with him! But a few days after we had all recovered, Arthad went out scouting and reported that there was a large army of Orcs camped near us, and they would most certainly discover us. The army was too large for the twelve of us to defend ourselves against. My father was afraid we would be taken to the final slaughter, but then I asked Hathaldir if he knew where to find the same mushrooms that we had eaten. He picked the mushrooms and volunteered to put them into the Orcs' food. He crept into the encampment as the sun incapacitated them. My father sent me that night to see if the Orcs were still fit for battle. They were all lying on the ground, sick as dogs. We wiped out the whole army of Orcs without receiving a scratch in return. And it was all thanks to the boy and his one act of carelessness."

Lúthien and Beren began laughing, for now they were at the state where just about anything could make them laugh. What they did not know was that they were being watched. Daeron the minstrel was sitting near them while they laughed, hidden by the trees. He had indeed followed Lúthien there after determining that it was the only way he could get his answers. And now he watched with fiery eyes as she laughed with Beren and kissed him.

"This is bliss," Lúthien said. "The hardest thing to do is to leave you, never certain of when I may return and whether or not I will have to accept the brief courtship of yet another suitor."

"Who is it now?" Beren asked. "Has your father asked you to court some new lordling?"

"No, thank goodness. But Daeron has been watching me closely."

"Does he love you? Has he ever said it? I know that you told me that the two of you were like brother and sister, but I have to wonder…"

She shook her head, "When I was very young, we would play at being lovers. It was completely innocent. We would speak of romance, laughing all the while. During most of the years I have known him he has courted few maidens, which is odd. Though he was not born noble, he would be a good husband for any girl. He claimed he knew nothing of courtship. He kept suitors away from me when I grew tired of their advances. Of course my father disapproved of our play. It was just a game at the time, but now when I look back, I wonder when the exact moment came when Daeron began to move beyond playing."

"So he does love you!"

"Many years ago, I was desperate to get out of Menegroth. Father had told me that he had been exchanging private letters with King Finrod who had expressed interest in visiting for the sole purpose of courting me. Needless to say, I was terrified. Daeron brought me here so that I could dance to his pipe as we had made a habit of doing. I told Daeron of what my father had told me. I felt somehow betrayed, as though the two were conspiring together to take me away from Daeron and these woods forever. I am embarrassed to say that I panicked and wept. And suddenly Daeron kissed me."

"Did you run from him as you ran from me?"

"I was completely shocked. I told him I loved him as I loved my own blood, as a brother. He confessed that he had loved me as a sister at first, but his love grew into something else. I asked him when and he answered since he could not remember when. I told him he must never mention this again and that it would never be. I could not picture him as my husband even if my father had not expressed displeasure with him. I wondered if I had only fueled his feelings with our play and I stopped it at once. Sometimes it seems as though he is still playing the part."

"And Finrod?"

"He came to Doriath once, but only on business. We were introduced. He wrote several times again of his wish to come when I became a little older, but he was always delayed somehow. Sometimes I am convinced he never meant to court me at all, that it was all just wishful thinking on my father's part. Finrod only expressed half-hearted interest."

"It was from Finrod's own lips that I first heard of you when I was still growing up as a boy. Perhaps the mere mentioning of your name stirred something within me. And then I dreamed of you, young like me. And then you grew older as I did."

"I dreamed of you before you had even been born!"

"You see?" he laughed. "We were meant to be. I want to marry you, Tinúviel. I do not mean it as dalliance."

"And I want to marry you, Beren. I want you more than anything, but I cannot. Not now."

"I thought a Princess could have anything she wanted."

"Delusions. A Princess is either given what she has, or she has nothing at all. It depends on the generosity of those around her." She grew weary of the subject and rose to her feet and began to flit about on dancing feet, laughing sweetly and chiding Beren, "Come! Dance with me, for I would see to what avail my teaching has been. You must woo with nimbler feet!"

He rose and they danced and became like two shadows shimmering on the green.

"Are you all right, Tinúviel?" Beren asked when she became silent.

Lúthien blinked as though she had been startled from sleep. "Yes, Beren," she answered at last. "But, I suddenly had a thought."

"A thought? What can it be? How can a thought disturb you so?"

"It is just that, my Mother once said that the Eldar were created immortal so that they would have the greater of mirth. But . . . It comes with a price. Immortality does. It makes me think of us."

"What do you mean? Do you mean-"

"No," Lúthien laughed and wrapped her arms about him. "No. These past few days, Beren, have been the happiest of my life. I have never felt such joy."

"My life was nothing but misery until I found you."

Lúthien smiled, but she said, "That is just it, Beren. With such mirth must come equal sorrow."

Now they both fell silent and did not speak of this again. They both found it too disturbing, too cryptic, and all too true.

"Now what are you thinking about?" Beren broke the silence.

"I am listening to the song of Yavanna."

"Song?"

"The song of nature."

"I do not hear anything."

"Of course you cannot. Not yet, at least."

"Is this some sort of elvish trick?"

"No, no, Beren. It has nothing to do with kin! To listen to the song of Yavanna, you must hear it from the heart."

She laid her head on his chest and listened.

"You know those moments when you hear your heart beating?" she asked.

"Yes."

"Your heartbeat is the drums to the song. The sounds about you are tributaries to that drum. Then the song falls into place. Do you hear it?"

"Ever so faintly. So when you leave, my little bird," Beren said to her, "will you promise to come back tomorrow?"

"Maybe," she said playfully.

"It must be yea or nay."

"Maybe," she repeated.

"You have yet to make up for the time lost to us yesterday. I was very disappointed when you did not show up, and I was rather lonely without you."

"I am sorry."

"You are not sorry. Promise?"

She only grinned.

"Tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow!" Lúthien sprang away from him. "If you want me to promise that I shall come back, then you must catch me first!"

"So, you want to play games do you?"

Lúthien laughed, but then she saw Beren coming toward her, and she backed away from him.

"No!" she cried, laughing again. "I was only joking!"

"Then you had better run, because sooner or later, I am going to catch you. You want to play games, and then we may as well have some fun! Next time, keep your mouth shut!" Beren teased.

Lúthien let out a cry and ran into the trees, laughing, and Beren chased after her. But each time he tried to catch her, she seemed to dodge him with dancing feet.

"Come now, my secret lover. You can run faster than that!" she taunted.

She climbed to the top of the hill of Esgalduin and suddenly halted and let Beren catch her on purpose. They fell to the ground together. Then Lúthien promised that she would come back the next night to see him. After giving a kiss in farewell and the promise to return, Lúthien left Beren, and he slept.

Daeron had the mind to burst out from his hiding and catch the two in the act, but he could not show his face to Lúthien. When she left, Daeron cast his eyes down, not wanting to believe what he had seen. Lúthien had fallen in love with a mortal! How this could have happened, he could not guess, and Daeron was tempted to kill Beren then and there. He was asleep, so it would be easy.

He drew his sword and circled the sleeping form. He poised it for the deathblow, but then he hesitated. Killing Beren would mean facing doom by Mandos, and even worse, it could kill Lúthien. She would never forgive him for doing such a thing, nor would the Valar. He knew now that Lúthien had broken her promise to him, but he could not blame her. The Elf not only hated Beren for being a Man of mortal race, but because of the great jealousy he held in his heart now.

Daeron himself could not spill Beren's blood, but he certainly would not forget him. Of his deeds, few were of the heroic nature presumed to be recorded in song, for although he was a warrior when the need arose; Daeron's skills led him in different directions. He was the calm voice of reason when blood ran hot. His blade was sharp, but his wit were even sharper.

Daeron slowly sheathed his sword, but he said with a grin, "All right, fiend. You have caught the one thing I hold most dearly. But for that straw, I would not hesitate to kill you. I will not kill you now. Or not just yet. I have more to lose than you do." Then Daeron fled from the hill and turned and shouted to the woods, "But hateful is this Land of Trees! I curse this land to unending silence and fear! My flute shall fall from idle hand, and mirth shall leave Beleriand! Music shall perish and voices shall fail, and trees will stand dumb in den and dale!"

Daeron the minstrel returned to Menegroth , and he did not lift his pipe for any purpose. A hush had fallen upon the woodland air.

Thingol's folk murmured in wonder and said, "Who has wrought this spell of silence? What web has Daeron's music caught? It seems the very birds sing low and the river flows with silence. The leaves scarce whisper in the trees."

Thingol sent for Daeron the piper, and he came before him upon his seat and spoke no word.

"Daeron," Thingol spoke. "You are master of all music and are wise beyond your years. What omen does this silence bear? What horn has sounded this watchful tension? The Lord Oromë? Some say that they have seen him, yet that would indeed bode evil. He has not left Valinor for long ages, not since the unhappy Noldor appeared. If it was not he, who comes or what?"

Daeron answered, "He comes not! No feet divine shall leave the shores of Valinor till many things come to pass and many evils. The Guest is here. The woods are still, for strange deeds have been done in your realm that you have not seen, though queens, maybe, may guess, and maidens, perhaps. Where one once went lonely now two go!"

What is the meaning behind your riddles, lore master?" Thingol said impatiently. "Speak plainer so that even a king may understand! Who is he that earns my wrath, this Guest that you speak of? How can he walk free within my woods amid my folk, a stranger?"

"Far in the mountain-leagued North, my lord," Daeron said in a low voice, "lays the land that groans beneath Morgoth's shadow. From ruined Dorthonion came one, bent and worn in wars and travail. He is the last of Bëor's sons, they sing. He came far and deep, seeking vengeance upon his enemies until there was no more, over den and dale, field and plain, mountain-passes cold, and steep hill. He bled his way over swamp and ravine, through rain and snow, through sun and storm. He is the last of Bëor's House to hold a sword unconquered, neck unbowed, a heart by evil power made hard as stone. Have you never heard of Beren son of Barahir?"

"What evil has this mortal brought out of the North? List!"

"I know not what mischief he is up to, my Lord, but I have seen him, with my own eyes, with Lúthien the fair, your daughter and our beloved princess, and dearer to me than sister."

Then Thingol was silent, and Melian spoke not. At last Thingol said, "He wanders far, and news he may have for me, this Beren son of Barahir. And words I have for him maybe! I would see him."

Then Daeron asked that his name would not be mentioned for the finding of this trespasser, least of all to Lúthien. Thingol agreed.

This was the first time that Daeron betrayed Lúthien. As soon as he left the king's presence, Lúthien sent for him. She too, wondered at his silence, but when she saw him, Daeron seemed very merry. Knowing that Beren would be caught and face judgment, he smiled and greeted her heartily. She felt very suspicious toward him for some unknown reason.

"You seem rather merry, Daeron," Lúthien observed with puzzlement when he began playing upon his pipe a loud and cheerful tune.

"Does that alarm you, my dear sister? You have been so high in spirits these days that it seems to have infected me as well. I admit that I felt gloomy. Perhaps it is because of a change of weather."

"Daeron," she began in all seriousness. "I cannot help but feel guilty for your lack of cheer. You remember that you wanted to know where I had been going. I am ready to tell you for the sake of our friendship. You must first make a promise to me to speak of it naught to any living soul."

Daeron's heart sank and he passed a hand over his eyes, then his ears. He did not have to spy and eavesdrop on Lúthien after all, for now she was ready to tell him herself about her secret lover in the woods, but he had already spoken to her father.

"No!" he cried, and Lúthien was startled and more puzzled by his behavior. "You need not tell me! What you do is no concern of mine! I am not worthy of your trust!"

"But-"

"You are not the cause of my spell. You need not worry for me!"

"Daeron," she said and the warmth in her voice utterly smote him.

He could not look her in the face: the face of a friend, thankful and full of affection, a look he had often cherished in the past, but now dreaded.

"I must fetch Mablung and Beleg," he said and fled.

But he was too late. The king was enraged that a mortal had come near his daughter. Thingol hated Men and had taught Lúthien to fear them. They had tasted the bitterness of Morgoth's slavery and had the seed of evil planted in their hearts, and so did many Elves, which he did not think on. But Thingol was not the wisest king in the world. Therefore, he sent two of his greatest huntsmen after Beren to bring him before Thingol for questioning and for sentencing. Their names were Beleg and Mablung.

These two Elves were connected in many other tales. Mablung and Beleg were noble Elvin-lords, and they stood high in the king's favor. Beleg Cúthalion was a great hunter, surpassed only by Beren, and he became a great warrior in the realm of Doriath. Beleg was also a great friend to Mankind after Beren. He fought alongside Turin, the son of Morwen, who was also of Beren's kin. Mablung was also a great warrior and a warden of the realm and was wise and foreseeing. And indeed, these two warriors were also the bodyguards of the princess and had shared in her raising as a child.

Mablung and Beleg came before the king and bowed, wondering what he could want. He only called upon them if there was a dire need at hand. They were his greatest warriors and also the king's advisors.

"Your lordship," Mablung bowed. "What would you have us do to serve you? We are open to give advice, and we both have the strength and will to go into battle if there is need for us."

"I have a most important matter for you both," answered Thingol, stepping out of the shadows, and he indeed looked intimidating. "I have a great need for you to search in the woods of Neldoreth for a terrible beast."

"Lord, we shall seek this beast for you. What beast is it?"

"This beast is a Man. A strong, cunning man. There have been rumors that there is one of this filth sheltering there in the woods."

Mablung and Beleg gaped at the king, wondering why Thingol had asked them to do this. A Man in the woods did not sound like a great threat, even if he was trespassing. Such a request would be given to a common soldier, not two of Doriath's greatest lords. At first, they thought it was a jest and laughed, but Thingol gave them a piercing look, and they realized this was no stunt.

"A Man, lord?" Mablung stammered.

"Yes. He is not of the Eldalië, that is for certain. Seek him out and bring him before me."

"A Man in our own forests, lord?" Beleg said doubtfully. "But the Girdle-"

"Apparently the Girdle did not affect this Man! That proves that he must be sought out!"

"This question is only out of ignorance, lord," Beleg said. "And I pray that you would pardon me, but why have you sent us to fetch this man for you?"

Thingol stared at Mablung and Beleg and answered grimly, "This Man has posed a threat to our kingdom, especially the safety of your princess! Is my daughter not of importance to you?"

At this, Mablung and Beleg were silent. It explained in part why they were the ones called to find the mortal. They were the princess' champions. However, they were all the more confused. Why must they act with such swift hostility? What had the man done that it warranted no thought behind their reaction?

"This Man must not be allowed to go free through Doriath," Thingol continued. "I have a great fear that he shall bring evil to this realm, for of his folk evil is a thing not uncommon. Bring this Man to me alive, but I do not want to risk too much, for the stakes are high. This Man will take great skill to find, for he is a great hunter and a skilled warrior like you two. When you have him, tie him up and blindfold him so that he will not be able to recall how to find his way to Menegroth or out of it. Throw him into the dungeons to soften him, and then you may bring him before me when I order it so that we can press him on these matters."

"Yes, lord," Mablung and Beleg said in unison. "We shall obey."

Mablung and Beleg were puzzled, but they did as Thingol ordered them. They set out to the woods upon horseback. Now that they knew there was a stranger in the forest, they were quick to find the signs they had overlooked before. They found Beren's tracks and eventually found the man himself. He had heard them coming and tried to hide, but he found that these two Elves were as skilled in tracking as he was, and he certainly could not outrun them.

"We know you are here, stranger," Mablung said aloud. "King Thingol Gray-mantle of Doriath the Lord of the Sindar and the Teleri has summoned you to answer for your trespass."

"It is about time you Elves found me," Beren answered after a moment's hesitation. "I do not see why I should have to answer to Thingol. I am but a lonely man. After all, I have lived here for some time now. Why must I be expected to answer to trespass now?"

"All questions must wait," Beleg had his bow drawn, not quite sure what to expect of this man. "Until you are in the presence of the king, remain silent and do not hinder us."

"I assure you that you will have no trouble from me."

"Nonetheless, we do not take risks."

Mablung blindfolded him and his hands were tied behind his back. Beren did not say a word to the Elves and was angered by his bonds, but he did not fight them, which was not what they had expected. They were relieved that they did not have to struggle with him. They wanted to take the bonds off, for it was against their conscience and also against their custom. The Elves were merciful to all their prisoners (except Orcs) but Mablung and Beleg had been ordered not show any such mercy to Beren. They led him along, taking every care they had in their hearts to spare Beren of stumbling.

The blindfold was not removed even when they reached Menegroth. It was difficult to move through the Caves without commotion, and word spread quickly of the stranger in bonds. Humans were alien to the Sindar. Some of the Elves that recognized Beren for what he was, a human, crowded about him. They were curious. Some were frightened. Mothers led their children away. Others were insulted by his presence, as suspicion and prejudice were in their hearts.

"Savage demon-worshiper!" someone said at Beren's side.

"Abomination!"

Beren turned towards the voices with a scowl on his lips, already angered and disgraced by his treatment thus far. These were Lúthien's people? Because Lúthien was searching for Daeron, she soon heard the word that a prisoner was being brought before the king.

"Beren!" she gasped under her breath.

"You saw him, did you?" an Elf chuckled, catching the muttered word.

"What?" Lúthien said sharply, turning to him.

"His name is Beren, is it not? The Man that has been in the woods for at least a season? Whoever reported it remains anonymous, and no one knows exactly what he has done. There are rumors that the king is going to have him executed."

"What! They cannot possibly do that!" Lúthien cried, rushing towards her father's chambers to stop them.

As she left, the Elf called, "Be careful, Princess! They say he bites!"

She cut off Mablung and Beleg and stood upon a pavilion and tried to call off the crowds, but there was too much excitement and chaos.

"What is this?" she demanded angrily, and the Sindar had never seen Lúthien angry before. "Have you no sense of respect or a man's dignity? Give him some room to breathe and be gone! What is this Man doing here in Menegroth?"

"Our lord the king sent us to bring him here for questioning, my lady," Mablung answered.

"What has the man done?"

"We were told that he was a malefactor, and you know, sweet highness, that the likes of Men are not welcomed here in Doriath. He was found in the woods of Neldoreth."

"Malefactor!" Lúthien cried. "That is folly! This man is harmless!"

Mablung and Beleg folded their arms and stared at her closely. Lúthien reminded herself not to say too much, for both Mablung and Beleg had known her since her childhood and understood her as though she were their own child, and Lúthien did not know what her father would do to Beren once he came in for questioning, if he planned to question him at all and not just send him quietly to his death.

"You have the Man lost of sight, and he is unable to cause harm. He is no threat, and he has not yet been proven to be a criminal."

"Your highness, the king-" Mablung began.

"My father will see him, but not like this!"

She ripped away Beren's blindfold and cut his bonds with her sickle dagger. Mablung and Beleg did not stop her, for they had felt the bonds were unnecessary in the first place. As long as Lúthien took them off, they would not be blamed. But now they were even more confused. The king had insisted this man was a danger to her in particular, but she was defending him.

Beren blinked, for the Caves were surprisingly well lit. His eyes took in their beauty, and the beauty of its folk. Under other circumstances, he might have spent an hour examining the intricate colors of the stone floor alone. He was relieved that Lúthien had come to his aid. Suddenly, someone struck him, cutting open his lip. Because there was so much jostling of bodies and confusion, however, it was impossible to identify his attacker.

"Who was that?" Lúthien shouted. "No one assaults prisoners!"

Mablung and Beleg drew their blades and stood on either side of their captive. One of their commands was that Beren had to brought safely to the king.

"He is going to harm you, Princess!" a voice said.

"He is an animal, he does not belong here. He will taint this place!" said another.

"For the last time!" Lúthien shouted at the crowds. "Return to your hearths! If I find the one who struck this man, I will place these bonds on them!"

The Elves threw out a few last words at Beren, which were not at all polite, and they began to scatter, discussing the beast that had been caught and the way Lúthien had fearlessly released his bonds and chastised those who mistreated him.

With that, Beren was thrown in a cell. Mablung and Beleg went to report their success to the king. Lúthien remained behind and asked the guards to allow her to question the prisoner herself. They saw no reason to refuse, so they granted her request, but they remained close by. They too believed that Men were their enemies.

Lúthien and Beren spoke in low voices, just low enough so that the guards could hear little and not become suspicious.

"Your father seems like a very merry fellow," Beren said sarcastically, still rubbing his wrists. "And your people are friendly."

"I am ashamed by the way that they behaved, but you must believe me that they are not evil. Tell me what happened."

He quickly explained with some bitterness, and Lúthien reached in through the bars and placed her hand in his.

"Not too close, your highness," one of the guards warned her. "He is dangerous."

"Dangerous indeed!" Lúthien said under her breath, ignoring him. Then she asked, "How did my Father find out about you?"

Beren shrugged in answer.

"There was someone in those woods at our last meeting. That is the only explanation."

"There is nothing we can do about the spy now."

"I may be able to convince my Father to set you free, but if he knows . . . He may kill you and not even heed my words."

"Then I shall go to my death, but at least I shall be a happy man when I depart from this world."

"I will not let my Father kill you!"

"That is what he most certainly shall do, Tinúviel, if he indeed knows what we dread. Nor could you stop him. I know very well what Thingol feels for my people, and I also know how much he loves you and how fierce he is in protecting you. I can only hope for a quick and painless death for my crime." Lúthien looked very alarmed and distressed, so Beren then asked to distract her, "How much have you heard from your people?"

"They seem to know nothing themselves, Beren. Not even Mablung and Beleg could tell me, and they are my Father's most trusted servants. This does not bode well. If he will not say what you have done, then he must know everything."

"Then I shall be dead before sunrise."

"No!" Lúthien said again. "No! I shall plead for your life, and I can only hope my Father does not deny me your freedom. If he still keeps you here as some foul Orc or one of the Enemy, I shall do everything in my power to set you free. I promise."

"Do not make such dangerous promises."

Lúthien and Beren stared at each other, and they held their hands against the bars.

"Your highness, please step away from the prisoner. We are going to feed him now," one of the guards announced.

"I am not hungry, sir. No need for you to feed me, I can very well go on without being stuffed like a turkey. I have survived for weeks without food before."

The Elvin-guard ignored him and set some food down for him.

"I said I was not hungry."

"Will there be a problem?"

"No, sir."

Beren stared at the food and then kicked the plate away from him.

"I hope that they will not make me rot in this damp hole in the ground for a while before they kill me," Beren moaned. "I think this is worse than torture!"

"I will come back for you," Lúthien mouthed to Beren.

"Dangerous promises, your highness," Beren answered, shaking his head. "Do not make them."

After leaving the dungeons, Lúthien went to her father immediately. The guards before his room did not dare to step in her way. Thingol stood with Queen Melian in one of their chambers, retired from the matters of the court, when Lúthien bolted into the room angrily, swinging back the doors precariously. She stood in the doorway, her eyes fierce, but neither Melian nor Thingol said a word.

"Father," she said breathlessly. "I have heard that you arrested a Man that was brought here from Neldoreth. Why is this? You sent Mablung and Beleg after him, and the crowds were prepared to devour him! They humiliated him. They struck at him! It is not our custom to treat our prisoners this way! We treat even Orcs better than this! How can you permit this?"

"Yes, they have brought a criminal," her father answered, his face expressionless. "And is it true that you spoke with this Man only yesterday?"

Lúthien cast down her eyes and did not reply. She sat in an arbor made from living withies of woven willow. Melian was standing close by, but she could feel the distance between them like a wall. Thingol was speaking urgently in a low voice.

"Tell me this, my child: How did this Man enter Doriath? Your mother tells me that he passed through her Girdle as though it was only a block of air! He caused no harm to it, and it appears it did no harm to him! Can you explain this? You seem to have spent much time with him, so I had an inkling that you might know!"

"I do not know the answers to those questions."

"Do not toy with me, Lúthien!" Thingol shouted, and Lúthien's eyes widened at the sudden raising of his voice. "How did you come hither to him in those woods, which are forbidden to you? Why did you not flee when you saw him, as I told you to do so? As you promised to do so? Is it also true that you have been seeing this Man in secret for months now, and that you are lovers?"

"And who is the Elf that casts such dark rumors about?" she rose from her chair.

"Answer my questions, Lúthien!"

Lúthien clamped her mouth shut.

"Answer me!" Thingol hissed.

Still, Lúthien said nothing, and Thingol raised his hand, thinking to slap her, but he knew he could not will himself to do it, and Lúthien only stared at him. He had never slapped her in all her years. Then he spoke in grief and amazement.

"Lúthien, I do not wish to accuse you of anything, but I must know the truth. I shall believe what you say. Now, answer me, please."

At last, Lúthien spoke. "I will not answer any of your questions until you promise that you shall not slay him, whatever charges you may grudge him of. I know this man is innocent. You shall not harm him, and I shall lead him to you as a son of kings, not as mortal thrall."

"I will not keep such a promise."

Lúthien was the one pleading now, "Please, Father? Please spare him his life!"

"Is that why you are here?" Thingol said. "To beg for his life?"

"Yes. Your grudge upon him has no merit. If you were to slay him, you would be shedding innocent blood, and you would not face my wrath alone."

"You are quite taken to him. Why?"

"I am not quite certain of that. It may be in part because he loves my dancing so. You should see the hunger in his face-"

"I can certainly imagine that, but I do not wish to!" Thingol said with a shudder.

Lúthien narrowed her eyes, and her mouth gaped open.

"The charges facing him are very great. I do not care if you believe you are in love with him. He deserves no less than death, and that is what he shall be given."

"Please, ada!" Lúthien begged, her face suddenly very troubled, and she stooped upon her knees. "The only crime he is guilty of is ignorance! Is a mortal man required to know of the Hidden Kingdoms? Should he have known that he had passed into Doriath? Does he deserve death for this? Please, Father, I am here to ask you to save yourself, and I cannot bear to see such injustice. I have never asked you for anything, Father. All that I ask of you now is to spare this man's life. It is already as untimely as a flower's. Must you cut him down so soon, or lock him away to wither? If you wish to see your daughter weep, you may do so."

Thingol could not stand her helpless pleading, and he wanted to know the truth of all the rumors he had heard, so he said hesitantly, "It is true, Lúthien. You have never asked of me such a thing."

"If you swear to tell me the truth, I promise not to kill Beren."

"You swear upon your honor, and upon your love for me, that you shall not lay a hand upon this Man, whatever crime he has committed?"

"I swear upon my honor as a king, and as a father, that I shall not be the cause of his death."

"Agreed."

"Are you lovers?"

He held her face in his hands, and she was forced to yield at last. Had her father shouted or screamed at her, she would never have said a word, but he knew exactly how to break her silence. He told her he loved her. His mind touched hers and he reached into her thoughts and told her so.

"How long?" Thingol asked, the tears flowing from his eyes.

"Since the very eve of spring."

Thingol's voice became harsh and resonant.

"I had not believed the rumors at first! I had not expected for my child to sink so low!"

"What do you think I am? A harlot?"

Thingol sighed. "No. No, I cannot believe that of you. You are no harlot. It was an evil spell. You cannot truly love this man."

"All that I have told you is the truth!" Lúthien answered, tears in her eyes. "There is nothing that I have not told you. Nothing!"

"You have given your love to a Man?"

"Beren, Father, is much more than a Man."

"He is your doom!"

"This may be so, Father. I know that. Beren may be my doom, but he is also my love. What is his crime?"

"He has trespassed into the Hidden Kingdom, which is forbidden to his kin. He dared to come near you and-"

"Beren has committed neither crime nor harm here."

"So you are saying that Beren never tried to force himself on you or touch you in any way!"

"Never! I went to him, Father!"

"By your own free will?"

"Yes! It was my choice, and that choice has been the hardest I have had to make. But, Father, I am glad that I chose what I chose and did what I did. If you must put someone through trial, you can throw me into prison, for if you say that it is a crime that I have fallen in love with this man, then I am guilty as charged! I have no regrets, and nothing you say can make me regret it!"

Her father had asked many other questions afterwards. His words pierced her like swords, and he did not grant Lúthien any mercy. Never before had he raised his voice so loud. Queen Melian did not say a word but only watched the feud, knowing it was best not to intervene, nor did she speak to Thingol of her thoughts.

At last, Thingol turned away in disgust, "There is to be a trial. Beren shall not go unpunished for this!"

"No, Father!" Lúthien cried in anguish. "You swore! You swore!"

Thingol lifted her to her feet effortlessly and forced her to look in his eyes. They were filled with pain and rage, and there was a coldness in them that Lúthien had never seen before. Lúthien turned her eyes away, but Thingol did not release her from his keen and merciless glance.

"Unhappy mortals; children of little lords and brief kings," he said. "Shall such hands as these lay upon you, and yet live?"

Lúthien returned to Beren and ordered the guards to release him. They hesitated, at first, but there was no denying the wishes of the heiress of Doriath. Beren was very grateful and embraced her once they had left sight of the guards. However, she did not appear in high spirits.

"Tinúviel, are you all right?" he asked.

"I have spoken with the king," she answered turning her face away, fearing that tears would begin to flow again at the mere mention of her father. "Now you must come with me. You have not won your freedom yet. You must face my Father. He may set you free if you speak well enough for yourself."

"You are taking me to see King Thingol?" Beren said apprehensively.

"Yes, and my Mother as well."

She took him by the hand and led him through the caverns herself to the throne of her father as if he were an honored guest. She halted him outside of the hall and quickly whispered advice to him.

"Remember that he shall be judging you by your every word, so you must put much thought behind them. He can read into your heart more than you might imagine, and my mother is worse! Never hesitate to answer one of his questions, or that shall make you look suspicious. A few moments of silence is like an eternity at trial. He shall mock you, try to trap you . . . You must not lose all your self-control for a moment, and you must never speak out at him with angry words at what he might say. That alone could be the death of you! My father has never been very patient. And above all things, do not lie! Do not lie even about the slightest thing!"

"I would never dream of trying to lie to an Elf!"

"There are those that have tried it before and failed. Now, Beren, if you could put a spell on me with your voice and words alone, I am sure you can slip your way from death's grasp, as you have done so many times before. Use all your wit now, and may Elbereth protect you!"

Then she led him into the center of the hall, and the court was silent. Some of the Sindar eyed Beren suspiciously and others with enmity. Daeron was among the court, leaning against a cold pillar with smiling face. He knew that it had been well he had not slain Beren himself when he had the chance. His blood would be upon Thingol's hands now.

Queen Melian sat beside the king. She saw Beren and at once felt a noble and powerful presence in him. She knew he was a Man, but Melian was a child of the Valar, so she felt no hate or suspicion toward him. She knew he was the man that she had foretold of to the Lady Galadriel long ago: The one that would bring a great doom upon Doriath.

Her expression was grave, but Thingol's was one of indescribable loathing. Little love did he have for Men, and he looked upon Beren as though he were some despicable worm that had spat upon his throne. When Thingol got a closer look at Beren, his lips parted in surprise. He got down from his throne and stood before Beren, studying him, for Thingol recognized him. He had seen this Man in his dreams. He stared at Beren for a long while, and then he returned to his throne and sat there, noting the strange looks that his court gave him.

"Lord Father!" Lúthien raised her voice in a great cry. "Please have mercy upon this Man! I beg you to release him, for he has done no wrong!"

"We shall see." He gave his daughter a piercing glance and said in a low voice so that no one in the hall would hear and in Quenya so that only a trusted few could understand, "I will deal with you later!"

"Hopefully by then your heart shall be less hardened!" she whispered back and sank into the shadows.

"And what has the maiden done to displease the King so?" Beren asked in Sindarin, having caught Thingol's words and understood because he had grown up with the tongue of the Noldor on the tip of his tongue.

Many in the hall, including Thingol, were astounded that Beren had spoken in the Elvin-tongue, and Daeron started. He had devised the Sindarin language as the Gray-Elves secret tongue, but this did not make Thingol any softer on Beren. Melian waited for Thingol to rise from his throne to speak to Beren, for it was elvish custom, but the King did not raise a finger. He remained sitting upon his throne so that he looked stern and proud.

"And who are you that has dared to approach my throne?" he said harshly to Beren in the Common Speech. "I had not summoned for you. Do you not know that whoever comes unbidden to Menegroth never leaves the halls of stone alive without my acquiesce?"

But Beren did not answer for fear, for the king's power and majesty was very great. He stood upon his enlarged throne, for Thingol seemed almost to be a giant among Men or even Elves. His throne was carved from the mighty roots of the great tree Hirilorn that roofed the throne room, the only chamber within Menegroth that was open to the sky. It was carved into a chair with flowers in bloom and the arms were eagles springing into flight. A crown of leaves and flowers was in his hair, and his hair was silver. His face was youthful as the spring, and his eyes were piercingly bright, and they probed into Beren like daggers. Melian sat in a highly decorated throne of her own upon his right. There was no chair for Lúthien as she was not allowed to participate in the judgment of Beren. Else she would be sitting upon her father's right side upon her own throne. When she was a child, she had sat upon her father's lap.

The silence was ominous, and Thingol mocked him.

"Are you mute, child of Man, or do I not speak clearly enough? Someone fetch this Thing some scissors and cut his hair so that maybe this woodwose's ears will be uncovered, and he may then be able to hear my words and answer!"

The court roared with laughter, and Beren became hot with humiliation. Lúthien was sore for him, and still, her father continued to mock him.

"Is it true that you are a lord of Men, woodwose?"

"Yes," Beren answered, but he did not say another word.

"My, but you are unkempt!" Thingol smirked. "You look to me like a beast of the wild! If this is the fashion of a lord of Men, how so go their women? Do they run about like deer clad only in their hair?"

"Nay, that is not so!" Beren answered, greatly angered, but he did not dare to raise his voice.

Mablung rose to give the convictions, "Beren of the Edain has been charged with thievery, trespass, conspiring, spying-"

"Spying!" Lúthien spluttered. "Aye Elbereth! There is no merit to this case, as I said before! Father," she looked upon him with disdain. "Where is the reason in all of this?"

"That is quite a long list there, and these are only examples of the crimes he could have committed," Thingol answered and turned to Beren. "Well, you are here on your own defense, man-animal, so defend yourself! Or do you cringe with fear? If you have civilized tongue, and not that of a beast, as you so look, mortal, speak! Is your name Camlost, or Echermion perhaps?"

Lúthien could not contain herself any longer. She stepped beside Beren and clasped her hand in his. She knew this would make her father angry, but she could not allow him to mock Beren so for the amusement of the court and to satisfy his own cruelty.

"This is Beren son of Barahir, my king," she said boldly. "This man-animal is the noblest of Men and Elves and deserves renown and honor from us all. He is one of the bravest of his kin, and he is the greatest hunter that Arda has yet seen. And he has felled many Orcs. Thousands of Orcs are said to be the number. The tale of his deeds has become a song even among the proud Sindar. He is a lord of Men and friend to the Elves! But for him and the deeds of his father, evil would not so easily be kept from our borders. He is the lord of the Edain, a prince among his people. He is the last of the sons of Bëor, foe of our foes whose knees bend not to Morgoth! And your accusations against him-"

"Let Beren speak!" Thingol said venomously.

Lúthien cast down her eyes and spoke not again. Thingol glared at her for a moment and she stepped back into the crowd. Daeron came to her and offered her his chair. She waved away the generous offer, knowing she could not possibly sit still. Then Thingol turned to Beren again and no longer mocked him, but pressed him with hard questions.

"Beren, you must realize that you have entered a forbidden land. Can you give me a plausible reason as to why you should not be given heavy punishment for your insolence?"

Beren hesitated, and he glanced at Lúthien, who had hidden her face in her hands. Then Beren looked up and found himself under the Queen's gaze. In her glance was wisdom and compassion, and Beren at first marveled at her beauty, and then he remembered that the Queen was not elvish. She was indeed a heavenly spirit in Elvin-form, and as he looked at her, words seemed to be put into his mouth, which Melian had, in no doubt, given to him without speaking. His pride was suddenly awoken, but he spoke calmly and strategically, knowing that Thingol would try to ensnare him with words.

"My own fate led me hither to your lands, my lord. It was something that I could not alter, though it seemed to me at the time to be only chance. I had no knowledge that I was even in your lands."

"Ignorance is not an excuse."

"I am many things, Gray-mantle, but ignorant, I am not. Nor, sire, do I use such excuses," Beren said in Sindarin. "But as for ignorance, who can tell? We all have our own store of knowledge and wisdom. And these virtues, in no doubt, my lord, you have. But how great a store, I wonder when you have me dragged here, thrown into prison, and then questioned unfairly under the guise of a criminal?"

"Bold words for a man being condemned by his every word," Thingol answered, refusing to slip into his own tongue.

"If I am being judged by my words, your highness, then I judge that there is little justice in these halls, for I am not the criminal you name me."

"If that is indeed so, then where are your people? Why do you wander alone as outlaws do?"

"Because I have no 'people', Lord. I am a wanderer and avoid contact with the outer world. That way, I am free to go without charge."

Thingol clenched his jaw and grimaced.

"And what do you desire of us?" Melian spoke, and she smiled at Beren warmly, for he had spoken with skill enough so far.

"What do I desire? What do I desire? My Lady, I thought that you would never ask! For I desire only one thing of you or of this fair domain," Beren answered with a glance at Lúthien. "For it is above all gold and silver and all jewels. Neither rock nor steel nor the might of all the Elf-kingdoms can keep me from the treasure that I have found, even though I had sought that treasure not at all. That treasure that I seek is your daughter. I ask for her hand here before you now, for she is the fairest and the most sweet of all the maidens in the world. I would take her to wife and love her for all eternity. She is the only reason why I am here in your lands. What say you to this, lord?"

There was a heavy silence in the room after these words; save that Daeron laughed. Thingol would surely kill Beren for such a request. Thingol sat on his throne with an ugly scowl on his face, and his eyes were lit into a fire. Melian's smile faded, and she looked as though she were in doubt. She looked upon Beren closely, and he could not endure her glance for long. She had read into his heart. What she read did not comfort her, and she looked all the more worried. Lúthien gave Daeron a steady eye, and he cut off his laughter. She was dreading her father's answer, and she wished Beren had not asked for such a thing. Although Beren had asked for her hand and had made it as a loving gesture toward her, it was also made out of pride. She shook her head and prayed silently. Her father had agreed not to kill Beren, but she could not stop him from throwing him into the dungeons until his years were spent.

"Death you have earned with these words," Thingol said very slowly in a low voice. "And death you would find surely had I not sworn an oath in haste to my daughter to break her silence."

At these words, Lúthien and Beren's eyes flickered to one another. Lúthien's glance was full of relief and Beren's was of gratitude.

"I regret that oath now, dirty thrall of Morgoth," Thingol continued. "For I would have cut your throat so fast, you would feel no pain and would be dead before you hit the floor! Why have you come to spy upon my land, and in your folly dared to come near my daughter, of whom you have no right to even glance upon?"

Beren looked up and answered, "Death you can give me earned or unearned with a slight command, lord. You have that power. But the names you give me are without justice. My house has not earned such names from any Elf be he a king or no."

Then Beren held in his hand the ring of King Finrod that had once belonged to his father before he was killed. Finrod himself had given this ring to Barahir at the battlefield of Unnumbered Tears. Many in Doriath knew that Barahir had saved that Elvin-king's life in that battle and Lúthien breathed a sigh of relief. Her father could not kill him now. He had spoke well on his own behalf, and to kill him could cause a grudge against King Finrod. Finrod was a powerful king, and the Noldor was renowned in the arts of battle. Thingol could not afford open war with him, and there still was friendship between them, and this was probably the only reason why Beren was spared at all.

Seeing the ring, Queen Melian leaned to Thingol's side and began whispering counsel into his ear. For now, she was sure that Beren was the man that would bring about the fate of Doriath. She was wise, and she knew that killing Beren would be against the will of the Valar.

"Forgo your wrath, husband," Melian said. "For not by you will Beren be slain; and far and free does his fate lead him in the end, yet it is wound with yours."

But Thingol did not seem to be listening to his queen. His eyes were on his daughter, and a fire of rage was in his eyes. He hated the thought that Beren had ever touched her, and he spoke before Melian had even finished speaking.

"You ask me to give you the hand of my daughter? Why, 'tis folly! You love my daughter so, that you would wed her and also gain power through her?"

"Nay, lord. I have no thought to gain such power. My only thought is to love-"

"Do you deny it, Beren, that by wedding my daughter, you would become a prince of Elves and would be given authority over half of my kingdom?" Thingol demanded, paying no heed to Beren's words.

"I do not deny it, lord, but I do not seek that power. I am no Elvin-lord, and it seems that I no longer have any lordship since my own kin have perished."

"What will you ask of me next? Shall I throw down my crown at your feet? Is that what you would have of me?"

"I have no desire for your throne or your power," Beren repeated. "I only want Tinúviel as my wife."

"Tinúviel?" Thingol looked puzzled. "Who is this you speak of now?"

"Tinúviel. Lúthien. Your daughter that I would join flesh with."

"You speak tender words for a liar! One day you are an outcast among your own people, but the next, you become a mighty prince and take the fairest maiden that lives as your wife who is also immortal and daughter of a king? It seems that there is no way to count your lucky stars, Beren!" Thingol said sarcastically.

A few courtiers laughed at these words.

"But you must see, Beren, that it appears that you are one star short," Thingol said grimly, stepping down from his throne. "Or perhaps they have all gone dim and died."

"Then I must look to a new star."

"What sort of jest is this? You cannot provoke the wrath of a king with impunity!"

Thingol was the tallest Child of Ilúvatar, and he towered over Beren and became even more threatening, but Beren still was not daunted.

"I see the ring, son of Barahir, but I also see that you are prideful and deem yourself mighty. And I must tell you this: A father's deeds to another Elvin-king will not win you the hand of my daughter Lúthien the fair. Therefore, I devise a test for you to prove your worth. For there is a treasure that I desire. It is rock and steel that keep me from it, and I would have it against the might of the Elf-kingdoms. You say that such obstacles do not daunt you. Behold! Are you willing to pay this price for the hand of my daughter?"

"You have only to name your price, and I shall pay it gratefully, my lord," Beren said with a humble bow.

Then Thingol sneered and said, "So be it! Mark my words, son of Barahir, for this is your quest: Bring to me a Silmaril from the Iron Crown of Morgoth and bring it back here as the bride price for your wedding. Only then, if she wills it, will I place my daughter's hand in yours. You shall take her to wife and become one flesh. Then you will have my jewel, and though all the fate of Arda lies within the Silmarils, you shall hold me generous. Now here is the question! Have you courage, or love enough, as you claim it to be, to do me this honor?"

Lúthien and Melian both flinched and fell into despair. Lúthien's father was sending Beren to a sure death. He would not break his promise to Lúthien, yet he would defeat Beren and be rid of him in the end. Not even the Noldor themselves had seen the Silmarils since they were stolen from them by Morgoth. Many hosts of Elves and Men had been plunged against the might of Angband for those most holy jewels, and they had all been crushed into the dust, for Morgoth held them above all his treasures, and even laying a finger on one of the Silmarils was punished by the torture of his Balrogs. All attempts to win the Silmarils had failed. And Melian knew that Thingol had just fallen into the Curse of Mandos and knew that he had woven the fate of Doriath.

But Beren laughed, and Thingol and all those in the room looked upon him with wonder thinking him mad.

"For little price do Elvin-kings sell their daughters," he said, thrusting out his hand. "And woe to you! It is but too little a price for such a fair maiden as Tinúviel. But if it is your will that I should fetch this jewel for you, then so be it. The next time you see me, I shall hold aloft a Silmaril in my hand. For let me tell you: You have not looked the last upon Beren son of Barahir."

"You have made your oath, and you are now bound to it. I give you my wholehearted leave to go forth on your Quest. And let me warn you, son of Barahir, that if you come back here to my halls without a Silmaril, it shall be your head that I take as a price," Thingol answered in a manner of farewell.

Then Beren bowed and turned to leave, looking into Queen Melian's eyes, who had not spoken. Then he stopped briefly to bid Lúthien farewell.

"Are you a fool!" she whispered. "Have you thrown me away with your pride?"

"Nay, Tinúviel. I am setting out on the Quest if it is the only way I can win your hand."

"Why did you do it?" Lúthien demanded. "Why did you-"

"I could no longer stand that our love was secret," Beren answered. "Now the whole world shall know."

"No, Beren," she pleaded. "Do not go. I wish to see you again at least alive! Do not go on this quest! My father has set a trap for you, and I am the bait. Do not go!"

"Tinúviel, it is all right," Beren said soothingly. "I will not go alone. I will seek the aid of Finrod. He swore an oath to my father long ago that he would aid him and his descendants in any need, so Finrod cannot deny me. I shall return not to buy you with any jewel, but to find, my love, in loveliness a flower that grows beneath the sky."

Beren kissed her hand. Then she watched Beren as he turned to leave, a great look of loss upon his face. A few guards would not let him pass.

"Come now!" Beren said angrily. "Your king gave me leave to go!"

"You are to follow behind us," they answered. "We shall lead you back to the Wild where you belong."

Beren let out a strangled cry and kicked one of the soldier's spears from his hand. Then he cast aside the other guards that stood in his path and left the halls of Menegroth. Then Lúthien stood there staring after him all alone and in great shock and disbelief.

Queen Melian watched her daughter, and then she at last spoke to Thingol.

"You have devised cunning counsel, my lord. But I do not feel that you have been wise. For you have not doomed Beren as you thought. For whether Beren fails in his attempt or succeeds, it will not matter. You may have very well doomed our only daughter or yourself, and perhaps more. I feel that you are digging your own grave and destroying the kingdom of Doriath that we both created, and it frightens me, Elwë!"

"You are always foresighting evil, Melian," Thingol moaned. "But I do not sell those of whom I love and cherish, least of all Lúthien, to anyone be he child of Man or Elvin-lord of old! I tell you now, Melian, that if there had been any hope or fear that Beren would somehow succeed and bring a Silmaril back, he would be looking upon the light of heaven now, even though I had sworn against it."

Lúthien had heard those words. She had wandered beside her mother's throne, and she was hurt all the more. Melian had sensed her daughter beforehand and placed her hand quickly into hers at those words and squeezed her hand, but Lúthien grew angry with her father.

So, Beren had been trapped all along? she thought. If he had refused the Quest, he would surely have been slain sooner or later. My Father would have killed Beren if he knew he was not merely sending the poor wretch to a willing death. He would have broken his promise to me. And he swore! He swore!

Lúthien gaped at her father with astonishment. Then she gave out a shout and sprang before him on his throne. With a flick of her hand, she drew her dagger and threw it at Thingol's feet. It clattered as it fell, drawing every eye in the hall and causing a deafening silence.

"There!" Lúthien cried. "I have drawn a blade within your halls and have broken the law, for drawn blades in your halls is not permitted! What cruel and foul trap will you lead me to, lord?"

Thingol and Melian stared at her, having mixed feelings.

"You have indeed devised cunning counsel, lord! You so cleverly outwitted me, father!"

"Lúthien-"

"You lied to me, Father?" Lúthien spoke again, tears falling from her eyes, and her voice came out in sobs. "Have you no shame? Do you make promises in vain and use your own kin for your own pride and selfishness? Father, what have you done! What are you doing to me? You have sent a noble man to his death; spilled innocent blood with your dark designs! What new malice is this? You played upon Beren as though he was some puppet and his love for me was the strings! You have slaughtered us both with love! Alas, with love! What have you done?"

Thingol stared in horror at Lúthien, for her words went to the heart.

"Your highness, you must contain yourself," a soldier tried to pull her away.

"No!" she pushed him aside.

"My daughter-"

"Do you hear it?" Lúthien asked suddenly.

"Hear what?"

"The laughter of Morgoth and all his evil realm. It seems that you have allowed him to cut down a stronghold in Doriath, and a shadow from Angband has touched us here even in the heart of Menegroth. And who brought the shadow thither, I wonder?"

"Beren will not be the first of Men that Morgoth has slain and for less a reason," Thingol told her. "It is better that he was not bound here for his trespass in my halls and his insolence. That was his choice, and it was not I that chose it for him."

Then Thingol reached for his daughter, but she sprang back.

"You would have killed him anyway, and you know I am right!"

"My child-"

"Murderer!"

There was a long silence. Lúthien had said this with such spite and such bitterness, and Thingol had a deep look of distress upon his face. Thingol and Lúthien stared into each other's eyes for a long while. Lúthien's eyes were full of challenge and rage. Melian watched their feud, but she did not speak. Then Lúthien wiped her eyes and retrieved her dagger.

Daeron came toward Lúthien, no longer smiling. He held her to him and tried to comfort her, but she suddenly pulled away from him also.

"What did I do? What did I say?"

"Why did you laugh?" she demanded.

She walked away from him, and all stared at her as she went by. Daeron was tempted to kiss her, but he knew he had to bid his time. He knew that Lúthien would not forget about Beren so easily.

And she did not. She pursued Beren on her horse. Beren was so surprised that he halted, and Lúthien sprang from her horse and fell at his knees.

"Do not go! Do not go, my lord!" she cried.

"Why have you followed me, Tinúviel?"

"Because I will not let you fly into such heedless peril!"

"Heedless? I know that death is the most likely danger at least. But I do not care if I die, Tinúviel. I have nothing else in my life. I may as well die valiantly for the one I love."

He turned again, but Lúthien stubbornly clasped his knees and wept, and it took all of Beren's strength and will as a stern man not to weep also.

"Do not go, my lord! Do not go!" she repeated.

"Tinúviel, let go of me."

She only held him tighter.

"You know that if I stay here, Thingol shall kill me."

"Alas! It is true. I heard my Father speak so with my own ears, but if you must go, Beren, please allow me to go with you!"

"To Angband?"

"To the world beyond, if you must!"

"I must tell you, Tinúviel, that such words are dangerous."

"Compared to your flight, it is as nothing! Let me ride with you! Do not forsake me!"

"Tinúviel, go back! I command you! Go back!"

"No."

"You shall only put yourself into peril."

"No."

"You shall put me in greater peril. I shall be delayed if you come. Go back! Go back!"

"No."

Beren stooped and lifted her up. Then he placed into her hand the ring of Barahir and kissed her.

"Take this in troth! It belonged to my father and was given to him by King Finrod. It is an heirloom of our house, but when I return, it shall be our wedding ring. I love you," he whispered and then called to a few guards standing nearby. "Gentlemen, would you kindly escort the Princess back to her father?"

"We shall," they answered and came toward them.

"No, they will not!"

"I shall return before winter's frost, little bird."

"I do not believe you."

"Keep singing, Nightingale, and when I have returned, we shall sing together as husband and wife."

"No!"

"Guards, hold the lady in place until I have gone."

The Elves put a restrain on Lúthien, but she clung at Beren's arm.

"Take my horse, Iavas, Beren," she ordered him. "He will keep you safe from harm, for he is a speedy and keen horse. And allow me a seat behind you."

"No, lady. Will the horse bear me?"

"I have already commanded him to. But please do not leave me!"

Beren sprang up onto the horse's back and looked back at Lúthien, who was struggling wildly against the three guards. Beren was then reminded of Gorlim and the 'curse' he had laid upon him. Was he being punished for failing to satisfy the dead?

Someday, when you have fallen in love as fatally as I have, then you will take such chances.

"I do not wish to be parted from you so soon," he told Lúthien, "but I know the wisdom of it, even if my heart rebels."

"There will be many such partings for us, I fear," she said sadly, "but we shall always find each other; that I know."

"I hope we shall never be parted long."

He kissed her softly.

"You will have such welcome as they will lay down in song, and there I shall convince you of all the reasons you should cleave to me."

Beren hesitated. Then he said a hasty farewell, and Iavas bolted off, seeming to understand the whole matter. He disappeared even from elvish sight, and the guards let her go.

"Lady, are you all right?" they asked with compassion.

"Never lay your filthy hands on me again!" she hissed venomously, and the Elves stepped back at the sudden change in her voice. "Leave me!"

"Lady," they bowed in turn and left her.

Lúthien stared at the ring of Barahir, and one of her tears fell upon it. She clutched the ring that he had given her in her hand. She did not move until Daeron and Artanis came to comfort her. And that was their first parting.


	8. Chapter 8 Oaths

Eight

The Oath of Finrod

Beren left the safety of Thingol's lands, and no danger befell him on the journey. He felt wretched. He cast himself upon the ground and wept in anguish.

What have I done? What will befall Lúthien now that I have left her forlorn? Will she follow after me and risk death and capture? What will happen to her once she learns of my death? he thought. Will she fade from grief, or grow stronger because of it? Might she find a lover among her own kin and rule as Queen of Doriath when her time comes? Once I am dead…

For that is what Beren believed would become of him. He was certain of it. He realized now in full what he had vowed to do before Thingol, and now, he held fierce debate with himself. He could not abandon Lúthien forever, and he could not return to her until he had one of the Great Jewels, the Silmarils that Beren had heard tales of when he was a child. He knew he would have to find his way through many perilous lands and at last wander into Angband, Hell itself, and then face the Evil One upon his throne in his full majesty. He could not imagine living to see the iron halls, but he knew now that he was bound by oath, and he had only the faint, frail hope that perhaps he would see Lúthien again in the future.

She must weather the storm, he thought. She is strong. She shall weather it. She is more than a mere girl.

"At last," said a voice. "You rode as though death were at your heels and not in the path before you. Although, seeing as how your trial went, I am quite surprised Thingol did not send assassins after you."

Beren looked up into Artanis' face. She had pursued him alone upon a silver gelding. Though she was Finrod's sister indeed in looks, she reminded him of Queen Melian in manner.

"Did Lúthien send you?" he asked doubtfully. "Or was it perhaps the father?"

She smiled with bemusement, "I am the Queen's faithful servant. It was Melian that sent me, though I serve Lúthien as well, even if she may not know it."

"The Queen?"

"Aye. She has told me that you are the one that will herald doom upon Doriath. The fact that you passed though the Girdle was proof enough for me. She failed to mention that you would herald doom upon Nargothrond as well. Seek my brother Finrod Felagund and remind him of the Oath of Barahir. And give him my love."

"Why would Melian aid me if I herald doom upon Doriath? And why would Artanis aid me if I herald doom for Nargothrond?"

"Call me Galadriel."

With that Lady Galadriel spurred her gelding and rode for Doriath with all haste. It seemed that Melian was not the only enigma he was to encounter. However, he knew he must give heed to her words and rose from the ground, hardening himself once again, and his face grew stern and grim. At least he would not go alone and without provision to Angband. He recalled his father and their company, and the loyalties he had clung to before his years of exile. He knew what he must do, though such talk of doom would make it all the more difficult. He must go to Nargothrond at once.

He signed to Iavas and mounted him. The Elvin-horse Lúthien had given him seemed to know the way Beren was going, even though the horse had not been outside Doriath. Or had he? He was a wild horse, tamed only by his mistress' touch. He sped on like an arrow through Twilight Meres and climbed the hills of the Falls of Sirion tirelessly, and Beren did not need to command him. Iavas was an intelligent beast. While Beren rested near the river in the Fens, the horse left him and came back. He suspected the elegant beast had scouted out the land.

"Where have you been?"

Iavas whinnied and tossed his head about in answer.

"Well, you may take some time to graze. We have made good speed in such a little time."

Iavas snorted.

"The grass in this land may not be as green and fresh as the grass that grows in Doriath, but it will have to do. I expect that the quality of your fodder will only dwindle as we come closer and closer to the Cursed Lands, I am afraid. Feast now while you can, Iavas. Meanwhile, I shall be washing up in the Fens."

Iavas snorted again and walked toward the meadows and began gnawing at the grass.

"Bless you, Tinúviel, for such a beast," Beren said silently as he made his way toward the river. "He keeps me company enough, and he is the only memento I have of you."

"Caw!"

Beren looked above him and saw, to his greatest astonishment, a black carrion bird with a tuft of white feathers on his breast sitting upon a branch there. It cocked its head at him and let out another crow.

Beren stood for a moment in shock. The bird stared at him.

"Are you not the same bird that followed me through Gorgoroth and was there at my father's death?" Beren cried.

To increase his wonder, the bird nodded!

"Are you still following me? Why! What do you want from me?"

But the bird did not answer.

"Are you some sort of portent?"

The bird opened its wings.

"No! You cannot leave! I want to tear your wings off and gorge out your eyes first!" Beren growled and tried to catch the bird, but it took flight.

Beren stood there in doubt for a moment. This was the third appearance of this peculiar bird. He knew somehow that it would not be the last time he saw it. But Beren soon forgot the bird again and called for Iavas.

Beren passed into Talath Dirnen in the lands of the Noldor, and here this land was also called the Guarded Plain. Beren went that way, seeking King Finrod. He would need allies if he was to set out on the Quest. Perhaps then his attempt would not be so much in vain. But as he passed through Narog, he knew he was being watched.

"Take me to the King!" he called.

As soon as his voice sounded through the forest, two Elves sprang down from hidden watchtowers clothed all in green with arrows fitted to the strings of their menacing bows. They leaped out into Beren's path, and one of them commanded him to halt unless he wanted an arrow through his liver.

"Believe me, I am an excellent marksman."

"Who are you and what is your purpose hither?" demanded the other, and Beren recognized both the archers at once.

"Gelmir? Arminas?"

"Why . . . " Gelmir lowered his bow in bewilderment.

"This is no Orc or spy! How could I be so blind! Ah! It is the mask that is to blame. I cannot see a cursed thing with this mask on!" Arminas cast aside his bow and ripped off the mask. "It is Beren son of Barahir! He was once dear to Finrod, and he was dear to me as well, but now he is a ghost, and he has returned to call on us! What revelry!"

Gelmir dropped his bow and embraced him, laughing. When Beren turned to Arminas, his old teacher, he kissed him.

"It is a blessing to see you again," he said in elvish.

"Likewise," Arminas answered, grinning, "hero."

"The last we heard of your company, you were in exile in Dorthonion! But you could not have come from there. We heard rumors that the Men of Dorthonion were slain!" Gelmir blurted out. "That was ill and grievous news to us all, and King Finrod was greatly troubled by it. But we know now that the rumors are not true! Thank Elbereth!"

Arminas clasped his shoulders, seeming to tremble with joy. "Now, tell me, Beren, where is your father? He was my student as well, and we were once friends, aye, still are. But I am afraid that his hair might be white now!"

Gelmir and Arminas laughed as though it was a capital joke. They were immortal and could not know of the horror of aging. The shriveling and sagging of the skin, the loss of vitality, memory fading and becoming no more than unruly dreams. Time passed quickly for them and took no such toll upon their spirits or their bodies. Beren's smile faded.

"The rumors are true," he told them. "I am the only living man of my father's House. They were all slaughtered by Orcs, and I have been delayed so that I could not come here sooner."

The Elves' smiles faded at once.

"Come with us, Beren," Arminas said gravely. "It is time for you to come home now."

Then the Elves turned, beckoning for him to follow. They led him along the pathless lands, and only the moon and stars were there to guide them. The two Elves were on no road, but they found their way about without a backward glance.

There was no singing or merrymaking, and it was a rather somber journey.

"Well, Lord of the Edain," Gelmir said at last as they walked, "for that you are now. I can see that you are a boy no longer. I am afraid that your grief has forced you to come early to full manhood. It is a pity that Men's lives are so short!"

"Indeed it is," was all Beren said in reply.

"King Finrod shall be glad to look upon you again," Arminas laughed, cheerful as always, no matter the circumstances. "He might have named you as his heir, if only you were an Elf. I sometimes wonder what kind of high prince you might have turned out to be!"

"You have looks enough," Gelmir said. "All the Noldor shall rejoice at your return!"

"Now you are truly a hero!"

"Perhaps not all shall rejoice. Celegorm and Curufin may not be so glad to see me."

Arminas and Gelmir laughed in agreement and answered, "Indeed their joy will be less, but it shall be a treat to see their faces when you come before the court and are once again the source of all fascination!"

As a boy, the two princes had frowned down upon him, and Beren remembered the first confrontation he had with him, and the high prince Celegorm the fair had not seemed so congenial, so Beren had no desire to see them again.

"Well, there is the gate, Beren, and we shall go to Finrod and tell him the news, or do you want to surprise him?"

"I will surprise him."

Gelmir and Arminas laughed again.

"Only the son of Barahir would storm into the hall and make all others believe you were a ghost from beyond the grave! I cannot wait to see their faces!"

They led him along the halls. Then Beren burst through the doors of the king's chambers and called out to Finrod. His sister Artanis was at his side. She had left Doriath to visit her brothers.

Finrod was of Finarfin-descended Noldor, fair haired and keen-eyed, his skin very light, and his stature tall.

"Hail, King Finrod, noblest of kings under heaven!"

"Beren?" the king was so alarmed that he sprang down from his throne and embraced him. "Is this truly the boy I once knew?"

"Indeed it is, lord! You look the same as ever!"

"It must be a miracle!"

"Aw, lord. That is the story of my life!" Beren replied, and they both laughed.

"Then we must celebrate! We must prepare a feast in your honor at once!"

Beren's smile faded. "A feast?"

"Of course! You cannot imagine how joyous it is that you have returned! I grieved for you when news of you beyond tall tales ceased! Now all the Noldor shall sing new songs for you!"

Finrod clasped him in his arms and looked upon him with a fierce pride. Then he realized that something was different about Beren.

"You look well for being dead, if a little travel-worn. But what has become of the ring I gave to your father? Surely he must have passed it onto you?"

Beren colored slightly as he looked down at his ringless fingers. He had worn the ring upon his finger for four years, never taking it off. He had always made of show of it to his enemies to strike fear into their hearts and so that they would remember their failure to uproot the house of Bëor. It had become subject matter worthy of song, he had heard. He felt almost naked without it, and of course Finrod would notice its absence. Now he felt ashamed.

"The ring is… in the hands of another."

"Another? I am intrigued by this news! Whoever the lucky receiver is, my curiosity can wait! Hail to the Lord of the Edain!"

Beren sighed in defeat, and as the king ran to give orders, he sank in a chair, suddenly very depressed. Arminas and Gelmir stood beside him, puzzled.

"My lord, what is it that troubles you?"

"I do not have the heart to sing or dance or to attend a feast," Beren answered.

"Well, we cannot leave you alone with grief. Come!"

There was a great feast in Beren's honor, and Arminas and Gelmir at last persuaded him to come, but he ate little and spoke less. It had been so long since he had joined such a social gathering. For many years now he had lived only with his Companions, and when they had dwindled, he was left entirely alone. Those years had made him self-reliant and secluded.

At the end of the table was the king, and he stood up and raised his glass.

"My dear people," he began. "During these dark days, we have had many losses and grievances."

"Hear, hear!" murmured some, and others nodded.

"We have seen much carnage and sorrow, and we have shed unnumbered tears as well as blood. Today, it may ease us of our sorrow to know that we have been given back one that we lost."

The court began speaking amongst themselves.

"Tonight, I am quite happy to announce that Beren son of Barahir has returned to Nargothrond, and he is here as our guest of honor."

Beren tried to conceal himself as best as he could. The Elves gave him their blessings, and then there was a celebration. Elf-minstrels were called in, and all the Elves began singing and dancing. This was too much for Beren. The singing and dancing only caused him a longing for Lúthien, and he needed to speak to the King. The elf-minstrels began to sing about her, and he sank low in his chair with his head bowed and his hands over his face. He left the Great Hall soon afterwards and wandered lonely in his old chambers.

Beren finally approached Finrod

"I did not come here for merrymaking, lord, as joyful as it is to be in these halls again, in which I roamed as a boy. I spent most of my life here, but I cannot stay. I remember that you took an oath before my father on the battlefield that you would aid him and his descendants in every need. It is time you redeemed that oath, if ever you loved me or my father."

After these words, Finrod said nothing. Darkness seemed to pass over him, and he dismissed Beren with a wave of his hand. Then the king was troubled and walked alone in his chambers and spoke to no one and saw no one. Beren cast his eyes to the ground. He knew that Finrod would not deny him, but he knew that the king would be risking his life coming on this quest, and his death could cause the doom of all his people, and the king knew it. But he returned to Beren and spoke gravely.

"I will not deny my oath or my love for your father. Or for you. When you and your father left Nargothrond and I heard the rumor of your death . . ." he paused. "I felt responsible. I will do anything you ask of me, although it may cost me my life. What is your need?"

"My lord," Beren murmured. "That is quite a tale."

Then Beren told Finrod about his father's death, about his wanderings and his finding, and he began to weep as he told Finrod of Lúthien and the times they had shared, and her father's bitter resentment toward him. Then he told the king what his quest.

"For Lúthien the fair, too fair for mortal heart, I must taste the bitterness of torment and essay the burning waste and doubtless death. It is no more than I deserve."

Then Finrod fell into horror, and he knew that his death was certain; that he would be killed on this quest as he had foreboded. At last Finrod understood the change that he had seen in Beren since their last meeting. He glanced at Beren's bare hands and guessed then, too, who was the new keeper of the ring of Barahir. Therefore, he spoke in heaviness of heart.

"Your news explains much that I have thought strange about you these last two days, Beren," he said. "It is plain to see that Thingol desires your death, but it seems that this doom goes beyond his purpose. The Oath of Fëanor is at work again, and I see that the war of the jewels is not over. The Silmarils are cursed and shall work the fate of this age. I am afraid that at the mention of the Silmarils, the Sons of Fëanor shall be eager for battle. You have made yourself some bitter enemies, Beren, and I do not speak of the Enemy alone. They are on both sides of you. Thingol holds a grudge, Morgoth the Evil One is your rival, and now Celegorm and Curufin are dwelling in my halls! This is unfortunate for the both of us. Even though I am Finarfin's son and am King, they may rise with a power far greater than I, for the brothers are subtle speakers and have bent a great many people to their own will. They have shown friendship to me in every need, but to you . . . " Finrod laughed, "I am afraid they have never loved you, which you know already. Perhaps they shall deny you mercy also if they are told the purpose of your Quest! They will probably slay you before they allow mortal hands to fall upon the Silmarils."

Beren bowed his head.

"Yet I swore an oath, and I shall not have your father stir in his grave by breaking it. I shall aid you in this Quest, vain as it seems, for your father's sake, and for yours. Thus, we are all ensnared."

"My lord!" Beren fell to his knees and thanked the king many times, but Finrod remained grave and bade him to rise.

"Prepare yourself for battle," he added. "Now we must face our people, and Celegorm and Curufin also."

Beren told Finrod of Galadriel's words.

"She sends me her love?" Finrod said in response to that. "I wish that I could see her one last time…"

Then Beren stared after the king, saddened, and Finrod laughed.

"Rise, Beren! We may as well all die singing praises to the Valar and to love and friendship! Come! This Quest may yet bear fruit!"

Then the king addressed all the people of Nargothrond. He told the people of Barahir's great deeds and his courage in battle, and he told his people that he himself was now leaving his kingdom and coming to the aid of Barahir's heir. Then he asked that his chieftains would aid him.

There was a great roar from the crowds. Their king could not leave them. With the king absent, much evil could befall them and the courtiers spoke of this.

"A king cannot abandon his people," they said. "We will not become a scattered, leaderless race! Unless a steward is appointed, there can be no resignation of the throne for any reason or for any amount of time!"

But Celegorm and Curufin, once they had heard the mention of the Silmarils, leapt onto the pavilion, and Celegorm drew his gleaming sword. They saw the sternness in his face and no one dared to oppose him. He gave Beren a quick, piercing glance, and then he spoke.

"Be he friend or foe, whether demon of Morgoth, or Elf, or child of Men, or any other living thing upon this earth, neither law, nor love, nor league of hell, nor the might of the Valar, nor the power of wizardry, shall defend you from the pursuing hate of Fëanor's sons, if he should take a Silmaril and keep it. For the Silmarils we alone claim until the world ends!"

"Celegorm, I have no desire to claim the Silmarils as my own," Beren tried to explain, but then Celegorm passed into a long speech that recalled Fëanor, his father. Those words had caused the rebellion of the Elves against the Valar. Then Celegorm spoke and foreboded that this Quest would be the downfall of the Noldor.

"This Quest has been set upon a foundation of crockery! What fool would dare to recapture a Silmaril from the very throne of Morgoth, let alone enter Angband at all! That is a cursed place, barren wasteland, Hell itself loosed upon Middle-Earth! The Curse of Mandos, if there is such a thing, is our impending doom! What this mortal seeks is not only holier than any things upon this earth, but the Evil One also covets them! If they were to succeed and take a Silmaril, they would stir the wrath of Morgoth, and we shall then see the true might of evil! Hell shall be unleashed upon us at last, and there will be no mercy. Only fire and ash and whip. Is that, my dear people, what you desire? Our own self-destruction? It is just what the Enemy has been waiting for! The triumph of Evil!"

"You think that what we saw in the Battle of Sudden Flame was the essence of true darkness?" Curufin asked, and his words were not as subtle as his brother's, but he exerted no less power in his speech. "We saw Orcs, Dragons, Trolls. That is as nothing compared to what brews in Angband, lying in wait for the prophesized War of Wrath! Nargothrond shall be crushed into the dust! There shall be much fire and ice, and thousands shall die! You seek this Quest with a fool's hope, mortal, and you shall receive a fool's reward! Death!"

Then the people of Nargothrond began to doubt either Finrod's council or the Sons of Fëanor's. They murmured amongst each other. The brother's words were true wisdom.

"The king is a fool, and if he goes out on this Quest alone, death shall certainly fall upon him," Celegorm began again, for the will of Mandos entered the brothers, and they thought that they could seize the throne, for they were of the eldest line of the princes of the Noldor. "I am tired of fighting in recklessness, with false hope! If we are to overthrow the ultimate evil, we must exert all our might! We must give one mighty blow so that the Enemy is not left wounded to recover again stronger than before with newfound malice and revenge! I will not watch in horror as we stand alone among our brothers to be cut down again and again and again! We must have aid in our cause! We must have unity!"

"Yes!" Curufin said. "Unity! We are tired of bloodshed! I am tired of returning from war, bleeding and wounded in heart and body as well as in spirit! I am tired of seeing my hopes crushed into the dust! We have bled ourselves and endured great sorrow!"

There were loud shouts of, "Hear, hear!"

Celegorm spoke with much power, for his voice was clear and pleasant, and he was skilled with the tongue. None among the Elves of Nargothrond were unmoved by his words.

"I am tired of these fruitless attempts upon the Enemy, for he is everywhere and in everything! He is amongst us now! He knows where we are. He lives within us! Morgoth is not our only enemy. Ignorance and foolishness are powerful tools in our destruction as well! And estrangement! If we were to ally, the Noldor, the Sindar, the Teleri, we would become an invincible army! You cannot stand alone against such potent forces! I say that we make an alliance of Elves that shall make Morgoth and his demons tremble!"

"And what about my people?" Beren said boldly, and Celegorm turned to him and scowled. "For my people have fought also, and we have bled, and we have wept, and we have suffered as well as the Elves! If you wish to destroy Morgoth, you will need the aid of Men. We do not love Morgoth. We take part in the wars against Evil as well! We offer our aid freely, for we desire the path of truth and justice."

"And why must we depend upon the race of Men who are traitors as well?" Celegorm said.

"My people, the Edain, the elf-friends, are not traitors," Beren answered heatedly. "Do the deeds of my father, and my ancestor, Bëor of old, mean nothing to you all?"

"I do not trust these Men of alien race," Celegorm pointed an accusing finger at Beren. "Why should we trust the ramshackle house of the Edain, or at least, what is left of them? For here stands their heir, Beren, but where is the Lord of your people? Where is Barahir?"

"He is no longer among us," Finrod answered. "His life was taken by the Enemy."

"Then that means we must depend upon this man? Beren? This boy? This child of man that believes that he can walk into Angband and pickpocket the Enemy of the Earth?"

Beren bowed humbly, though he was hot with anger.

"And where is Bëor, your ancestor? He indeed was a worthy man, but he died hundreds of years ago. His descendants are failing, for they are either corrupt or dead!"

"It is true. My line is failing because it seems that our service is no longer wanted," Beren said coldly. "We have sacrificed, yet we are still scoffed as an ignorant, barbaric people? There are still many Men upon this earth that could compare with the first Lords of Men. And why do you, highness, mock me? For I am Lord of the Edain, and I have fought among you, I was taught by you, and I have rendered deeds that your people would deem impossible. If you can belittle my people so, then perhaps the Elves too are weakening and becoming corrupt!"

There was an outbreak of arguing at this.

"You see? Why trust these Men that would turn upon us and slaughter us from behind in battle?" Celegorm demanded. "I trust in my brothers, the kin of the Eldalië! I trust in our combined strength! We cannot slaughter the Enemy in secret or with weakling Men! We must have unity, and we are denied this through King Finrod who loves Men more than he loves his own kin! He cannot sway our hearts any longer! For he is no Vala, nor is he Ilúvatar, and not even Ilúvatar Himself can stay the righteousness of the Sons of Fëanor!"

King Finrod scowled and threw down his crown at his feet. There was a silence.

"Your oaths of faith to me you may break, but I must hold to mine! I fear that a curse has befallen us here. If there be any that still are free from this curse, I should be in the debt of those few that follow me!"

Then ten Elves stood up who were faithful lords. They took up their swords and kneeled to their king as one and cried out in Quenya. Then one of the Elvin-lords took up the crown and kissed it. He rose and presented it to Finrod.

"My lord," he whispered to the king, and his name was Edrahil. "I beg of you that you should name yourself a steward until you return. For you remain my king, and theirs whatever good or ill may befall."

"Aye, my lord," agreed another Elf. "I do not like the words that Celegorm and Curufin have said. I see a lust for power in their hearts. Have they not committed blasphemy by their words, lord?"

"Nay. The brothers are right. I am no Vala, and I cannot sway their hearts. And who here does not agree that this Quest is rather an insane jest? Be honest."

The Elves were silent, and the king laughed.

"I have a feeling that Celegorm and Curufin will be beguiled by their own malice yet," he said with a look at Beren. "But I shall name a steward to secure the throne, for I do not doubt that Celegorm desires just that."

Then Finrod gestured to his brother, Orodreth, and set the crown upon his head.

He said to the people, "Brother mine," he said, "Until I return this crown is yours."

Celegorm and Curufin said nothing at the choosing of a steward, but they smiled and left the halls.

Then Finrod ordered Beren and the ten Elvin-lords to prepare themselves for the Quest, and they would leave in the coming autumn.

"Take ease, Beren," Finrod said to him. "For now, you may relive your days as you did as a boy in these halls. I pray that Ilúvatar shall bring you that comfort at least ere we set out on the Quest."

Beren nodded, and bowed to Finrod. Then he began walking alone in the halls when a foot appeared out of nowhere and caused him to stumble and fall to the floor. Then Celegorm and Curufin sprang from the shadows in ambush where they had been waiting for him.

"Here is the headstrong boy that we had known as dead. After four years, Beren, you have grown into a Man. The only good thing about mortals is that they grow up fast and die sooner."

"Highness," Beren said dryly.

He climbed to his feet, but Celegorm punched him in the face so that he fell to the ground again. Then Celegorm drew his sword and pressed the blade against his throat. Beren lay quite still.

"All right," he cried, holding up his hands. "What do you want with me? I have ears, and I do not need a sword to my throat to have to listen."

"Let us give you a clear warning, Beren," Celegorm said and sneered. "If ever we chance to meet while you are alone and unprotected by your precious king, I shall kill you."

Beren hesitated, remembering how Celegorm had been the only thing that frightened him as a boy. The prince had shed blood before, the blood of his own kin, and he knew that Celegorm felt enmity against him for many reasons. He was afraid that Celegorm might chance to kill him now. Then again, he knew ultimately that he was dead, conversing with the living. Celegorm and his brother had assaulted him and threatened him. What he said now did not matter.

"I shall consider your words," he growled. "Now I pray that you put away your sword and speak with a civilized tongue!"

Celegorm scowled and then seized Beren by the shoulders. His strength was greater than Beren's, even though he was slender and not muscular like him. Because he was elvish and was of the Noldoli, Celegorm had been born with unnatural strength. He lifted Beren from the floor and slammed him against the wall, causing him to cry out in pain.

"No Man would defy me! You are an insolent boy, and like your fathers, you shall fail and betray our people!"

"Why would I betray the Elves? They raised me for many years, and I hate Morgoth, as you do, even though you two princes walk godless also."

Celegorm narrowed his eyes and pressed Beren harder against the wall so that he was near crushing him. "If you indeed could ever go against all odds and retrieve a Silmaril, I shall send for it, and I hope it sears your flesh! For you know that no mortal hand can touch a thing that comes from Valinor and is holier than the whole lot of your race! If you refuse or answer with silence, then the Sons of Fëanor shall be awoken in wrath, and we shall send our arms against you!"

"I do not intend to keep the Silmaril for myself. I have no desire for jewels," Beren choked out, his breathing becoming painful.

"Ha! Is that not what every Man desires? Men are weak."

"We use what strength we have."

"Strength? Your strength is as nothing compared to your greed, for Men are greedy."

"Not unlike yourself, Celegorm."

Celegorm struck him.

"Why are you concerned about me, Celegorm, if I am merely a mortal and cannot win a Silmaril by strength or arms? Indeed, I have no hope to win a Silmaril. It is impossible."

"That is the first intelligent thing you have said, Beren," Celegorm jeered. "What concerns me are your jests, and your mockery, and your insolence!"

"I do not desire any holy jewels. I wish I had never heard of the Silmarils."

"Very tragic!" Curufin said scorningly. "A reluctant hero is just what we need during these days of darkness. What is it that you desire, if not the jewels?"

"It is for something you could never understand."

Celegorm and Curufin laughed.

"Do you not know that nothing is beyond our comprehension?"

"Few can understand one of the greatest powers of this world and the world beyond, Celegorm, and it is a power that is stronger than greed or fear."

"What power would that be that you suffer from?"

"Love. It is love."

Celegorm paused for a moment and pondered what this might mean. Then he laughed.

"And who is the lucky woman that has found a man as bold as you?"

"She is not a woman. She is an Elf-princess," Beren answered, grinning.

Celegorm's laughter fell short, and he was suddenly angry. "Your race is certainly setting your ambitions over high," he said.

"You need not worry about your precious Silmaril. Morgoth possesses them all and will always possess them! Death shall come to me easily enough. You will not need to hunt for me. I am a hunted man already."

Celegorm stared at him and did not speak.

Beren cursed and shouted, "Let go of me!"

Celegorm punched Beren in the stomach so that he sank to the floor, gasping for air.

"A reminder: Touch the Silmarils, and you shall fall under the curse of Fëanor. Then we shall acknowledge our oath and hunt you down, and your descendants that come after. Come Hell or high waters, we shall find you and kill you."

Celegorm sheathed his sword and walked away. Curufin spat at Beren and followed after his brother.

Beren pulled himself up slowly and lifted up his shirt and studied his back in the mirror of his room. His back had been bruised where Celegorm had driven him against the stone walls, and his lip was bleeding. He sighed and shook his head.

"Beren, Beren, Beren," he said to his reflection. "You must have gone mad years ago. You have made yourself enemies on all sides and are about to challenge the forces of eternal darkness. Things will only be worse for you."

At that moment, Arminas and Gelmir walked into his room, both looking uncertain and somber.

"We cannot come with you on the Quest, so you must pardon us, lord. We have a mind to stay here and keep an eye on Celegorm and his brother. We will not allow him to purloin the throne."

"I would not have allowed either of you to come anyway. You are too dear to me," Beren answered, but of Celegorm's attack on him, he kept to himself. "I have a much more urgent errand for you."

"Anything, my lord."

"I would like you to also keep an eye on Tinúviel."

"Tinúviel?"

"Oh, pardon me. I call Lúthien that."

"We shall do all that you ask of us, lord," Arminas and Gelmir said in unison, and then the two Elves laughed, for they understood what the name meant and knew also what Beren said by it.

"Arminas, Gelmir? Would you do me one other favor?"

"Name it, and we shall obey."

"Deliver my messages to Tinúviel."

"Are you writing one now?" Gelmir asked, grinning.

"Yes."

Arminas peered over Beren's shoulder and read a few of his words. Beren could feel his eyes on the letter and hastily covered his words with his hand and gave the elf a piercing glance.

"Forgive me, Beren. My eyes wandered," Arminas said, but then he added suddenly, "When you write to her, you write naught but encouraging words. Do you believe in what you are saying at all?"

Beren hesitated and then answered, "No. I do not believe I shall ever win a Silmaril, and I regret bringing my own doom upon all those that I know and love."

"You seek this Quest in false hope?"

Beren hung his head and continued writing. Then he handed them the letter.

"Will you deliver it?"

"We shall, Beren."

"Well, I believe I can trust you to do so," Beren said, smiling. "But I do not trust your prying eyes!"

The three of them laughed, and Arminas handed Gelmir the letter.

"You shall deliver it to Doriath. Then you must send her answers to me," he told him and then turned to Beren.

"When was the last time we fenced together? You were only a teenage boy then. Am I correct?"

"I was near fifteen."

"Well, let us see what new techniques you have learned since then, shall we?" said Gelmir, patting his sword.

"I will fight the both of you."

"The both of us?"

Beren nodded and drew his sword, smiling.

"You were once my instructors in all that I knew. Now the student shall do the teaching."

Beren did not remain miserable for long. Indeed, he was able to forget for a while his grief. Lúthien was writing to him. He wanted to keep the letters, but he had to burn them for her safety. She told him that she was burning them as soon as she had read them. The intimacy of letters was well, and he was glad for them.

One day, when he was writing to Lúthien, he noticed that an Elf was standing next to him reading as he wrote. He was tall as an Elvin-lord, and he had brown Elvin-locks and walnut eyes.

Beren grew angry and stuffed what he had written away. Then he turned to the Elf and opened his mouth to speak.

"I am sorry," the Elf stopped him, knowing his danger. "I have a wife, and what you are writing warms my heart. I may not see her again, after all. My father fought in the Second Battle, and when he was killed, my mother pined for him and died so the keepers of the House of Play raised me. The same might happen to my young son when I set out. I am setting out on the Quest with you, you know."

"You are Edrahil?"

"Yes."

Beren sat down and beckoned for him to sit down with him.

"What did you say to her?"

"I told her that I would stand by my king until the bitter end. Tell me, who is Tinúviel?"

"Lúthien."

Edrahil gasped at that name and gave Beren a disbelieving look. Then he laughed, "You poor fool! You fell in love with the wrong girl! And she, I am afraid, is not your type. You poor wretch! Let me guess. King Thingol set you upon this task to prove yourself worthy of his daughter?"

Beren nodded, and Edrahil laughed again, "You poor fool!"

"Do not mock me!"

"I am sorry! I am not mocking you; it is just that I do pity you. When you fall in love, you take such chances."

Beren started. These words were much like Gorlim's. He was thereafter seen often with Edrahil. They could be seen talking together. Edrahil introduced him to his wife, a beautiful Elvin-lady, and their son, still a boy. There was much friendship between them indeed

"You should not leave her," Beren said to him suddenly one day. "Go home, Edrahil. Go home to your family. This is my Quest, and I may choose my allies. Go home!"

"But you cannot choose who is loyal to your king."

"I wish I could."

The weeks passed from summer to the fading time, and Beren was forced to write his last letter to Lúthien. He enclosed the message with love and gave the letter straightway to Arminas, for Gelmir had left for Doriath long before, and in return, Arminas laid Lúthien's last answer in his hand.

"Did she send no word to me?" his voice was thick.

Arminas shook his head. "I am sorry, my friend," he replied gently. "But she asked many questions about your activities, and I told her what I was able, that you were well and prospering in Finrod's service."

"How then did she look?" Beren almost pleaded. "I must know!"

"You ask the wrong person for such details," he thought for a moment as though trying to picture her in his mind's eye, and then continued, "She wore her familiar blue. Her dark hair was loose and shone like the moon, and she looked very fair, but in her eyes there was a sadness."

"Your words are but little comfort to me," the young man answered and looked away. "But there. I do not know what more I should expect."

He fell silent and Arminas watched his face but said nothing.

"Thank you," Beren said after a long pause, "But once your messengers take this letter to Doriath, they may remain there."

"Aye, Master," the Elf answered. "Safe journey."

"Pardon me?"

"You are leaving upon the Quest in the morning, are you not?"

"Thank you for reminding me."

Arminas took him by the shoulder. "I mean what I say! Safe journey, and may Elbereth protect you! It shall be a lonely road, Beren, and I do not feel that your friends will be with you for long. You do not have Lúthien, and all you have is your faith. Do not waver in your faith for an instant, my friend! That is all the advice that I can find to give you. Now go! I give you my love and my prayers upon your leaving, for I will not be there to see you off. I have said farewell, and I could not bear to do so again. Farewell, and I say again, may Elbereth protect you!"

Beren embraced him.

"Thank you, my teacher, my friend," he said.

"Farewell. Sometimes, I rue greatly that I could not say farewell to your father."

"He rests in peace, so fear not," Beren answered.

Arminas closed the door slowly behind him.

Beren turned away and sat down in the nearest chair and opened the sealed letter:

My beloved,

You are hiding something from me. Do not wonder! You know what I am, and I am not pleased. Your last message was so curt and implausible that I saw through it immediately. You are wretched, and I feel that I am the cause. You are dreading the beginning of the Quest, and you still have not told me when it is to begin. I must know so that I will not have to worry anymore, or at least until the day comes. You have no hope. If you have no hope, you cannot expect to succeed.

If you yearn for me so, than why did you leave me behind? You have abandoned me, and I can never forgive you for such a cruel deed. Since you were torn from my arms, I have worn the Ring of Barahir about my neck. I hope that you do not mind or King Finrod. It is all well that Finrod has agreed to aid you, but I feel terrible for him. I know little of him, but I did meet him once when I was young, and I know by tales and tidings that he is said to be the greatest among the kings of the Eldar. I believe that it is truly so. You need all the aid you can find, and I can provide you with an ally. That ally is I.

Please reconsider this! I beg you to reconsider! My Father cannot keep us apart like this, and what if you do fail and are made into a martyr? Please, my love. Your messenger, Gelmir, I believe is his name, you might have him 'kidnap' me per say. If not, I will find you!

My love for you shall endure for all time, longer than forever, longer than eternity, and by the love of Ilúvatar, may He reunite us again somehow. Each night that I live I shall look upon the stars and think of you and send my thought hither, for there my heart dwells until we meet again. I shall pray for you, as always.

Love, Tinúviel

Beren folded the letter in his hands and kissed it. Then he raised it to the flame of his candle and burnt it. He watched it curl and flame at the corners and until it was gone with the smell of incense.

Her words had pierced into his soul. Lúthien could read his heart, and what she said was true. Her words were both a comfort and a pain to him, and he wrote his reply immediately and caught the messenger before he had left upon his horse.

"Give me the letter you have," he said.

The Elf gave him the letter, and Beren tore it to pieces and handed the messenger his recent letter.

"Your relationship did not last long," the messenger said.

"No," Beren answered firmly. "Our love shall endure forever, but I must say farewell to her."

"You do mean to set out on the Quest then?"

"Of course."

"The people are saying that you are daft, Master."

Beren laughed, "I do not blame them."

The messenger grinned and hid away the letter. Then he saluted and bolted. Beren awoke the next day feeling refreshed and Edrahil came to greet him.

"So, you are still here? It is a fine day, is it not, Edrahil," Beren said.

"Indeed it is," was all Edrahil would say.

The rest of the company was waiting for him before the gates, and there was a crowd there. Some were singing farewell, others giving their blessings, and many others were laughing and scoffing Beren as he passed by, whistling a tune. Edrahil halted and stared at him.

Among the crowd were two Elves, and Beren recognized them as Celegorm and Curufin. He called to the two imposing princes and they halted, scowling.

"Good day to you, my good friends," Beren said to them. "Where might you be going? I can see that you have weapons with you and hunting dogs. You are going hunting on the outskirts of Doriath I have heard. Why hunt wolves when your King may need you here?"

Celegorm glared at him, saying, "The Sons of Fëanor serve no one. The only thing that binds us is our oath."

And then there stepped before Beren a great hound. He was of unusual size, and he had a silver coat. He whimpered and stared up at Beren. Beren stooped to pet him, and the hound growled in warning so that Beren hesitated. Celegorm laughed, for Beren did not know it, but this was Huan the hound of Valinor.

"Huan is very faithful to me and is a good judge of character," he said. "Nor does he like Men very much."

"Is that so? I have always seemed to get along better with animals than Elves or Men," Beren said and then spoke to the hound. "Your master is not worth serving."

The hound looked up at Beren curiously, and he patted him. Miraculously, the ferocious animal did not bite or growl. Celegorm called to the hound in Quenya, and Huan hesitated, staring at Beren. When Celegorm raised his voice a little, he turned, casting one last thoughtful glance at Beren, then trotted away.

The brothers turned away from him, and Beren said, "Are you not going to wish your king a safe journey? Oh, I forgot. You are oath breakers. It is likely that you shall one day break your principal oath."

Celegorm let out a strangled cry and sprang forward so that he was inches from Beren's face.

"Remember my warning," he whispered.

"Oh, I tell you one thing," Beren said remotely, "I never forget threats made to me."

Celegorm laughed and climbed upon his horse and commanded him forward.

"Safe journey to you!" Beren called over his shoulder.

Finrod stepped beside Beren on his horse, a great white steed.

"Good'en," he said cheerfully, but he looked downcast and troubled.

"Good'en," Beren answered.

"You seem merry this morning."

"I want this to be over with as soon as can be," Beren answered.

"This cheerfulness will diminish soon," Finrod said, shaking his head, "but I will be more than happy to curse Morgoth."

"I will do more than curse him," Beren said bitterly.

"Do you fear him at all?"

"Not in the least. I fear Ilúvatar, not Morgoth."

"I see. Many things shall change, Beren."

Finrod realized that Beren had closed his eyes and was very still. He was afraid that he had fallen asleep, but when he called for him, he opened his eyes.

"Are you still drowsy? We could give you an Elf-shot-"

"I was listening to the song of Yavanna," Beren answered. "We shall be upon nature's road for a while, so I thought I might get in tune with her. Perhaps she shall be kindly to us."

"The song of Yavanna?"

Beren laughed and answered, "It is something Tinúviel, I mean, Lúthien, taught me. If you have the ears to listen, when you are at peace of mind, you will hear the drum of the song. Every other sound are tributes to the drum."

"And the drum must be your heartbeat, I see."

"Absolutely, Finrod," Beren laughed again.

"Come!" Finrod called to the company. "Let us hear the song of Yavanna!"

They were all silent, and soon, the drum was heard, and birds sang in the trees, and the leaves fluttered in the wind. Water was falling somewhere, and still, the drum beat on in the same rhythm, and then, Beren half fancied that he heard a voice singing, Tinúviel's voice, and he was indeed at peace again.

Finrod then made a speech to the faithful, "So we begin the Quest, listening for the voices of Ilúvatar and his order of the Valar. You must have faith in them, as you no doubt have faith in me. I wish to give my thanks to you all before we leave. You have proven to be the most courageous, the most foolish, and the most loyal among all my counsel, among all my people. This Quest was appointed in the hope that we would not succeed, and indeed, there is little chance that we might do so. But we are soldiers of honor. I give you my most humble salute. May the stars shine upon you!"

Thus twelve companions ventured from the city of Nargothrond and went north, turning their silent, secret way and vanishing into the gray sky morning. No trumpet sounded, no voices sang. They were robed in mail of cunning rings of black with helms of gray and cloaks to protect them from rain and weather. They journeyed Narog's course and followed it until they found his source, the flickering falls that came down from Ivrin. They watched and waited many nights, and Beren could not sleep. He came and sat beside Edrahil.

"I am much accustomed to traveling," he said. "But still I cannot sleep."

"Really? Then you may take the watch," the Elf answered, grinning, "and I shall sleep!"

Then they heard a murmur from afar, a croaking laughter. It became louder, and then they heard the drumming of hideous stamping feet and could see many lamps of red swinging and glistening on spear and scimitar.

"Orcs!" Beren said in a harsh whisper. "Wake the others!"

Edrahil went to obey and shake them all awake, but there was no need. They had all been startled awake and hid themselves among the brack and the undergrowth. Even an old man could hear the clamor that the Orcs were making. The Orcs were never very subtle.

Edrahil was night-sighted, so he crept forth and watched a band of Orcs pass by. Their voices became distant and then Beren beckoned to the others to follow.

"Did you count how many there were?" he asked Edrahil.

"No. I could not get close enough."

"We must creep softly," Beren said. "I may go now as light-footed as you, my friends. I have learned through years of painful experience to be wary, and Tinúviel taught me to dance soundlessly. We will all be like foxes stealing through the shadows in search of prey."

"You mean to follow them?" Finrod was puzzled.

"Of course. I have a plan."

When they questioned him about his plan, he only motioned for silence and continued forward. They followed the Orcs' voices until they reached their camp, lit by flickering fire and lamp. Edrahil once again peered with his elvish eyes and counted thirty Orcs sitting in the red flare of burning wood.

"What now?" he asked.

"I believe I know what Beren has planned," Finrod said with a smile. "A dark design and one without certainty, but there is none better!"

Without a sound they stood silent round the Orcs, away from the glow of the fire, each in the shadow of a tree. Each slowly, secretly, bent his bow and drew the string. Suddenly their bows sang as one, and Finrod let out a cry. Twelve Orcs fell and died with a dart in their throat. Then Beren and Finrod and the ten faithful Elvin-lords drew their swords and struck as swift as they could. The Orcs shrieked and yelled and then took up their scimitars and answered, but they were only scouts and no match for King Finrod, his best warriors, and Beren son of Barahir. Some looked upon Beren's face, grim and vengeful in the firelight and let out cries of terror.

"It is Beren!" they cried in horrified recognition. "Beren son of Barahir, whom we slew! Run! Run for your lives! If you knew half the tales that I have heard of him and what he does to our kind, then you would run as though the Master himself were upon you!"

But none of those Orcs were left alive. Beren had faced many more than thirty Orcs at once, and the Elves wore their dark chain mail of Noldoli craft. The battle was swiftly over.

"Well done," Finrod said. "But we must not linger here. Never is so small a band of Orcs alone. We must bear their gear and become Orcs."

"Become Orcs!" the Elvin-lords groaned. "We will obey your every command, my lord, but this is a hard one to swallow!"

"I shall dispose of the bodies," Beren said darkly. "There is a pit nearby."

"I would not give the pleasure to anyone else," Finrod answered.

Beren dragged the corpses, two at a time, to the pit. He tore away their armor and the rest of their gear and tossed them aside. Once all were piled, he made a fire with little smoke. He had learned how to make a fire without discernable smoke, a skill that took many failed trials to learn. Thankfully, the environment was just right for the task. Then he returned to King Finrod. He had heaped the gear together and was handing them out to his comrades.

"Aye Elbereth, they reek!" Edrahil complained.

"You must bear the smell. I know it is much to ask, but we can go no further without such disguise."

They clad themselves with the poisoned spears, the bows of horn, and the crooked swords, loathing the thought of bearing Angband's raiment. They smeared their hands and faces with pigments, and then Finrod added several touches so that their ears grew hideous, and their mouths became agape and their teeth became like fangs. Then they hid their fair Noldoli garments and followed Finrod as he went northward.

Beren thought he was walking within a nightmare. He was clothed in the garb of his enemies. He had killed hundreds of Orcs. He had never imagined becoming one. He gazed into the waters nearby and did not recognize himself. Finrod had done well.

They met Orcs upon their road, but they did not stop the false company, for Beren and the Elves were in all ways like Orcs. The passing company of Orcs hailed them in greeting and did no more so that they grew more bold and took heart as the long miles rolled past.

"Do you really believe we can slip into Angband like this?" Edrahil asked Beren. "It seems much too easy."

"Sooner or later our disguises shall fail," he answered. "So far, they have served us well."

"Lower your voices!" Finrod said in his false voice. "You are Orcs!"

"Do not be afraid to curse and spit," Beren added. "And make noise. If we try to pass through silently, they will find that suspicious. Orcs make noise wherever they go. They do not know the meaning of the words silent or subtle."

They came beyond Beleriand and found the young waters of Sirion. There stood alone an isled hill amid the valley. Around its feet the river bent and had scooped a cave. It had once been an Elvin watchtower, Finrod's own. It was strong and still was fair, but now its purpose had been converted to malicious use, and beyond the valley were fields of wrack, dusty dunes, the desert wide, and further the brooding cloud that hung and lowered on Thangorodrim's thunderous towers.

This was now the abode of Sauron, mightiest of the servants of Morgoth and the most deadly. He watched with sleepless eyes of flame. From the North there was no other way for Beren and company save east, which was a direction they could not take. The Sons of Fëanor watched that way, and they would allow none, especially not the company of Beren and one of the sons of Finarfin, to tread their lands. Sauron was Master of Wolves, whose shivering howl forever echoed in the hills and foul enchantments he wove and wielded. The necromancer held his hosts of phantoms and wandering ghosts and monsters thronged about him, working his bidding; the werewolves of Wizard's Isle.

Once they were almost past the tower, a group of Orcs approached. They did not hail them, these Orcs were more clever than the others they encountered.

"What are you doing here?" they demanded in the Orc-tongue. "It is not your job to patrol this area. That was commanded of us!"

"What the blazes are you talking about?" Beren replied quickly since the others hesitated, unsure how to reply. "Have they mixed up the bloody watches again? That is just like the higher ups in the chain of command to booger things up and make us work it out for them! Fine! We shall be on our way and count ourselves lucky since there's less work for us now, though likely a lickin' for you."

"Who says it shall mean a lickin' for us?" the Orc growled and added what must have been a nasty word.

Beren replied with a string of words the others did not understand and which angered the Orcs to the point that they clutched their spears and notched their ugly arrows and the company was certain they were about to be slaughtered. But then they laughed uncomfortably and lowered their weapons. Beren grinned with triumph. He motioned for the company to continue on and to ignore the Orcs. Though he did not show it, he half expected a dart in his back the moment he turned away. The Orcs stood at their post and glared after them, puzzled, and yet they did nothing.

Once they were out of sight, the company all burst out laughing.

"Impressive, Beren," they exclaimed. "Where did you learn to speak Orcish?"

"I suppose four years in the Wild hunting and being pursued by them has had more of an affect upon me that I ever realized," he laughed along with them. "Never thought such knowledge would be useful."

"What else can you say in Orcish?"

"Oh, only the very basics. The first words I learned were curse words. It was Orc insults you heard me say last. I have found that if you use the right combination of insults, Orcs will either kill their own kind or laugh at them and offer them brothership. I knew not what else to do. Would you like to learn some Orc insults?"

"Teach us! Teach us!"

He revealed them all, and there was quite an extensive list. It was amusing to hear Orcish from the lips of high elves, especially vulgar words. Finrod found that he liked them all and decided that once the quest was all over he would use them to describe Celegorm and Curufin to their faces. He never knew there were twenty different words for traitor in Orcish.

"Their expressions when you told them that last bit just about made me snort," Edrahil admitted. "But I bit my tongue. I feared exposing us."

"It was quite hard to keep a straight face."

"I cannot wait to get out of these clothes!"

But even as they laughed and congratulated each other on their success, the Orcs reported their encounter to Sauron immediately, fearing that there had been some sort of mix up and that they would be blamed. Sauron almost sent them away, but he knew Orcs were untrustworthy, especially the more clever kind that did not have the usual breeding. He could not risk them turning upon one another.

"They told us we were in the wrong place, then took off!"

"What were their orders?" Sauron asked in his silent but deadly voice.

"They didn't say exactly," the Orcs regretted not asking more questions.

"Which regiment was it?"

And so Sauron knew of their coming, and though beneath the eaves they crept, he saw them. Suspicion grew in him and the wolves were roused.

"Go! Fetch me those sneaking Orcs!" he commanded. "They go as if in dread and do not come to me as all Orcs are commanded to bring me news of all their deeds."

The wolves obeyed, and they came at Beren's company and shouted at them in the dark.

"Halt! Sauron of the Isle has summoned you! Follow us!"

Beren drew his scimitar to fight, but Finrod stayed him.

"We may still have a chance," he said. "Let me be your spokesman if we are indeed revealed."

"We have been caught! All is lost!"

"Yes. All is lost. This is a quest for death, Beren. You said so yourself, but not yet. Death is not yet certain."

They were brought across the stony bridge and into that evil place to the throne, fashioned of blood-darkened stone. Beren knew that Sauron had deceived and murdered Gorlim and scowled at him. He did not fear him. He hated him.

"Where have you been?" Sauron spoke. "What have you seen?"

"Tears and distress, fire blowing and blood flowing. These we have seen, there have we been. We slew thirty Elves and threw their bodies into a dark pit. The ravens sit and the owls cry there," Beren answered. "You may search the land and find the burnt and defiled bodies of these Elves yourself."

"Come, tell me the truth, Morgoth's thralls! What befalls in Elfinesse? What of Nargothrond? Who reigns there? Did you come there?"

"We came only to its borders. There reigns King Finrod the fell," Beren blurted out.

"Then have you not heard that he is gone and that the aspirant Prince Celegorm sits upon his throne?" Sauron grinned.

"That is not true! You play us false!" Finrod said in outrage at the thought of Celegorm usurping his throne. "If the ancient king has vanished, then Orodreth rules in Nargothrond!"

"Your ears are rather sharp. You have heard much and yet have not even entered the realm's borders? What are your names? Who is your captain? You have not named him yet."

"Nereb and Dungalef are our names, and with us are ten warriors," Beren spoke. "We dwell in the dens under the mountains. Over the waste we marched upon an errand of need and haste. Boldog the captain awaits us."

"Boldog, I heard, was lately slain, warring on the borders of Robber Thingol and his outlaw folk in Doriath. Have you not heard of his daughter, that pretty fay of the name Lúthien?"

At that name, Beren started, but words failed him and he faltered, and neither Finrod nor the others spoke. Sauron, noticing their sudden silence and pricked ears, continued.

"Morgoth has heard rumor of her beauty. They say that her body is white and fair, the fairest in Beleriand, and he has become obsessed with the thought of capturing her and judging himself if it is truly so. I do not understand it myself, but he sent Boldog and a large battalion of Orcs to snatch her from the Caves of Menegroth, but the whole company was annihilated. The Girdle of Melian is guarded by more than just witchery. It is apparent that the Sindar have allies we have long overlooked. Those that they call 'the Green and Brown Elves' guard the passes. We once thought that people had perished with their king in the First Battle. It seems to me a strange thing that you all were not there. You are either cowards that turned tail and abandoned your posts, or you are liars. Either is a traitorous crime! The many troops we lost can easily be replaced, and now we know more than ever of that elusive people, knowledge that shall greatly avail us in the future. Next time we send to snatch maidens from caves, we shall succeed."

Beren shuddered, and a light shone in his eyes.

Sauron must have caught the look, for he said, "Nereb! Nereb, why do you not laugh to think of your master crushing a maiden in his hoard?"

"I do not laugh because that shall never be," Beren answered unwisely. "If Boldog was slain, then no force that you send will succeed in capturing the maiden of whom you speak. Those in Doriath would gladly give their lives for her. It seems to me that you have only wasted your time."

"Whom do you serve?" Sauron demanded. "Who is the maker of mightiest work? Who is the king of earthly kings, the greatest giver of gold and jewels? Who is the master of the wide earth? Who despoiled the greedy Gods of their happiness? Repeat your vows, Orcs of Bauglir! Death to light, to law, to love! Cursed be moon and stars! May darkness everlasting old drown Manwë, Varda, and the sun herself! May all in hatred be begun and all in evil be ended in the moaning endless Sea!"

But no true Man or Elf would ever speak such blasphemy and Beren said, "Who is Sauron to hinder us? We do not serve Sauron, nor do we owe him anything, and now we are leaving!"

Sauron laughed and answered, "Patience! You shall not abide here for long. But first a song I will sing to you."

Then his flaming eyes bent upon them and darkness fell around them. They could see only his eyes, and their senses dimmed. He chanted a song of wizardry, of piercing, opening, of treachery, revealing, uncovering, and of betraying. But though Finrod swayed, he sang in answer a song of staying, resisting, battling, of secrets kept, strength like a tower and trust unbroken, of freedom, escape; of changing and of shifting shape, of snares eluded, broken traps, the prison opening, the chain that snaps.

Backwards and forwards swayed their song. It sounded a mess. Sauron chanted in a flat, quiet voice. Finrod sang with the voice of the Eldar, singing loudly and defiantly. The chanting swelled, but Finrod still fought. Beren added the voice of Mankind, and then Edrahil and the others joined in chorus. Softly in the gloom they heard the birds singing afar in Nargothrond, the sighing of the Sea beyond and the waves on sand. But the darkness grew, and Finrod became desperate. His voice rang out now shrill and frail of Valinor. They were all losing their voices, but not the Dread Servant. His chanting became more insistent and hastened. Sauron caught up Finrod's words and twisted his song, for he sang of the red blood flowing beside the Sea, where the Noldor slew the Teleri, and stole their white ships with their white sails.

And Finrod fell before the throne.

The spell was released, and Beren and his companions suddenly were revealed. Then Sauron laughed and they were thrown into a pit where they lay in despair, forgotten for a time. Finrod drew away from the others and curled into a ball of anguish. Beren came and kneeled beside him.

"My lord," he said. "My lord, you did not fail. He does not know yet who we are or what we plan to do."

"Yes, my lord," Edrahil said in accord. "We could-"

Suddenly, his voice faltered in mid-sentence. They heard him cry out, a terrible snarl in the dark, and then there was silence again.

"Edrahil!" they all called for him. "Edrahil!"

But there was no answer.

"Where has he gone?" Beren cried.

"Look!"

Beren leaned down and saw blood spilt where Edrahil had last stood. Then he let out a cry.

"Sauron!" he said. "What do you want?"

"Each of you tell me your names and why you are here," answered an Orc. "That is unless you wish to die. All of you. Your friend has been mauled by one of our wolves. You will all suffer the same fate until someone speaks."

But even after the Orc had spoken and announced their doom, Finrod would reveal nothing, and none of the company would betray him.


	9. Chapter 9 A Maia's Counsel

Nine

A Maia's Counsel

Let us not forget that sweet maid Lúthien that was left behind in Menegroth. Time passed on from that mournful day, and summer passed into autumn. Despite the change in seasons, Doriath remained unwiltered. Flowers still sprang into bloom as though it was spring. The land was as fair as ever, and tonight, the moon was bright and full, and the stars shone piercingly bright so that the Caves were flooded with their light. There was a gentle breeze blowing upon the air, and the flowers created a sweet aura of perfume. There was silver dew upon the grass, and the silence that had passed over Doriath was lifted.

It was a night of such rare beauty, yet Lúthien remained inside the Caves, for whenever she heard the pattering of raindrops or the creaking of countless trees, then she would unceasingly long to hear Beren once again calling the tender name that nightingales were called of old, the name Tinúviel. The memory was faint and far-off, tolling like a bell. Besides, she could not go out even if she had desired to, for Thingol had put her under close guard. He found his daughter somewhat changed, for since the Trial she had spoken but little with her father, and the days weighed heavily on her. She spent her time with the horses that she loved and rode often from the Caves into the woods. Neither would her father allow her to send messages to Beren in Nargothrond and refused the messengers that came from Beren to Lúthien. She had been enraged, of course, and had spoken heatedly to her father.

"How dare you!" she hissed. "How dare you keep his letters from me? They are meant for me and should be given to me!"

"You are to cut yourself off from him!" her father ordered. "Only then can you begin to cut him from your heart and heal!"

Lúthien would not listen to him and realized there could be no more arguing with her father. He could not be dissuaded, and her mother did not speak about Beren and the Quest at all. Lúthien often asked her for counsel, but it seemed that the queen was hiding some grievous news from her. What she may be hiding, Lúthien could only guess, and Melian only gave out dark hints. Her mother's silence was becoming more frustrating and more hurtful than her father's relentless opposition.

Lúthien turned to leave and Thingol nodded to Mablung.

"Guard her and see that she does not disobey me in this matter."

"Yes, lord."

Lúthien's mouth dropped open, and she narrowed her eyes. She stormed from the hall and threw herself against the walls of the Caves, breathing hard in her anger.

"Am I merely his prisoner now?"

"Lady, you know he is protecting you."

"He has no right . . . "

Mablung touched her face and said soothingly, "You must forgive him, Lúthien. He means no harm to you. Love can be painful, but that is what has always been between you two."

"He is not keeping Beren from me because he loves me. He is doing this because he hates him and his kind! His words were a slight to my father, and he seeks to salvage his wounded pride! He sent him away to his death and I cannot love a murderer!"

"Nay, Lúthien. You love him still."

Lúthien started, then admitted, "I do, don't I? And I always shall, I suppose. However much I love him, I cannot remain his forever. I once thought that no force on earth could separate me from Father. But now I am no longer so sure."

Lúthien missed Beren sorely and collected as much news about the Quest as she could. It all seemed like good news, but Lúthien only felt more apprehensive as each day slowly crawled by. Soon, she could no longer sleep as soundly as she had before. She awoke each night from nightmares, and there was nothing she could do to be rid of them. Sleeping potions and soft feather beds did nothing to recover her ability to fall asleep anymore.

Daeron had pranced about Doriath with smiling face while Beren was gone, but as Lúthien's condition slowly became worse, and she was often seen near tears, he began to feel remorse over what he had done. She did not dance or sing, and Daeron could not take up his pipe while she suffered. She only clutched at the ring of Finrod that Beren had left her. Her heart was not up for singing or dancing now.

One night, Lúthien awoke to find an Elf sitting in a chair beside the fire. She did not recognize him, and once she sat up in bed, the Elf rose and held up his hand to silence her.

"My name is Arminas," he said. "Pardon me if I have startled you-"

"Tell me why you are here in my bower," Lúthien interrupted.

Arminas smiled and bowed as he presented a few letters to her. Lúthien stared and then took the letters suspiciously.

"What are these?"

"Messages from the Lord of the Edain, lady."

"If my Father-"

"Your father does not know, and shall not know. Give your letters to me. Thingol cannot seclude you from Beren for long."

Lúthien then began smuggling messages to Beren without her father's consent. Gelmir too had entered Doriath, and Arminas would deliver Lúthien's messages to Beren who remained in Nargothrond.

In each message Beren gave her, he reminded Lúthien that he loved her and assured her that he was well. Lúthien often begged him in her letters not to go on the Quest, or else that he should have his messengers 'kidnap' Lúthien so that she could ride along with him on the Quest, but Beren kept sending letters dissuading her. Lúthien received one last message from Beren:

My beloved,

Tomorrow we shall set out on the Quest, and I cannot try to lie to you or hide from you how frightened I am, and you have read my heart. I know not whether I shall survive this quest, but I know I shall not die in vain. Neither is it my wont to judge if I shall live or die. It is the Valar's. King Finrod, I can tell, knows that he shall not survive somehow, and this does not bring much encouragement to me. There are ten Elvin-lords that are coming in our steed, and one Elf, Edrahil, and I have become good friends. He reminds me often of Gorlim, and indeed, being a part of such a company brings back the memories of my father's. I am glad that I will have companions, if only for a short while, upon my journey.

It has been a joy to me to be able to walk in the halls of King Finrod, though I am anxious to begin the Quest. This was my home as a boy, and I hope to see it again someday. You told me in your last letter that you have begun wearing Our ring around your neck. I am touched to hear this. And I must tell you that I do not blame King Thingol. He shall never love me, I fear, but I can make him respect me.

As for King Finrod, he is still quite jubilant. He noticed me writing to you once and commanded that I tell you that he wished to send you his greetings and his friendship. He is delighted that you are wearing the ring that he gave to my kin. He also says that he is still amazed by your beauty. I told him to hold his tongue on that.

I truly wish you could be here with me, though I must tell you once again that you cannot. I cannot smuggle you here as you asked in your previous letter. You know the reasons why. I have all the aid I need, and I have put enough lives at risk. I fear that I may be putting the entire world at risk. I would feel too much as though I were your abductor, but I cannot help but think that I would then be able to tell you properly what you mean to me. Writing and receiving is just not the same as seeing you. I want you to remember those brief days of joy we shared before we were exposed. I shall treasure those moments as the happiest time in all my life. To know you are safe alone are crumbs enough to give me joy on the cheerless roads.

But now, I am afraid that this may be the last message I give to you. I wish to bring you hope, Tinúviel, so I will say that your letters have brought me hope, and perhaps, the hope that I will see you again will follow me during the Quest. Pray for me and try not to trouble yourself over the Quest or me. Perhaps it is better that you forgot. Beloved of the night, what hope have I of seeing you again? I dare not expect it. My final despair is never far behind, the dread that this has been our last parting. I can barely speak of it. But I must banish despair. Farewell! I go now to my death or to our happiness. Nightingale, I love you.

Beren

Lúthien reread the letter many times and was reading it when Daeron walked in on her. She tried to quickly conceal the letter, but Daeron saw it and stood frozen in the doorway.

"What are you trying to hide?"

"Must I tell you everything?"

"I think it is a letter. Who is it from, I wonder?"

Lúthien glared at him.

"Hand it to me, Lúthien," Daeron said sternly, reaching out his hand.

She held out her hand as if to obey, but when he reached to receive it, she jerked back her hand and crumpled it so that it was a tiny ball of paper in her hands. Daeron took a step toward her and she tore it to pieces in front of his eyes and cast them into the fire.

"You were forbidden to send messages to him," Daeron said very calmly.

"Of course. That is why I sent him the messages. You know it is my nature to do things that are forbidden."

"I should take this straight to the king."

"That is why I burnt the letter! I knew that you would betray me if you ever knew-"

Daeron raised his hand to silence her and answered, "I should, but I will not. Beren has already caused all the harm he can here, thank the Valar."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean what I mean."

"Speak!" she commanded with the voice of a queen. "I am required to answer your questions, and now it is your turn! What do you mean? You mean you believe that he shall only fail? You never answered my question when I asked why you laughed at his trial."

"The fool of a man asked for your hand, knowing who you were, and after he had been rather rash in words to the King. Thingol would have killed him himself if you had not bound his word first. Of course he shall fail. He wanted to fail. Since the Bragollach he sought only for a quick way to end his pain. He could not wait for time and nature to do that."

Lúthien folded her arms and said angrily, "I happen to love Beren, and when he asked Thingol for my hand in marriage, it was not an attempt on his life, and it was not in the least bit amusing when Beren was so close to death! I am sorry, but I do not possess the dark humor you have."

Lúthien swept past Daeron, almost knocking him backwards, and sat down in a chair, her hands holding the arms firmly. Daeron frowned and then pulled himself his own chair next to her.

"Tell me why you love him, Lúthien," he said. "What is it that you can possibly love about a mortal?"

"What he is never mattered to me, but as for why, you are asking the wrong person. Not even the Wise can ever comprehend the mystery of love, and there are many forms of love."

"And you understand it completely, I see."

"Then could you explain it to me?" Lúthien said fiercely. "Lore-master! You are supposed to have all the answers, yet you can never answer any of my questions! Love is what I feel for my mother and father, for Beren, and for you also."

Daeron stared at her, and that same longing he had for her was awoken again, but he did not speak and was calm.

"And if Beren were immortal, the same as we?" she asked then bitterly. "What would be the grudge held against him then?"

Daeron did not answer.

"Love is not something that can be bound. The heart has no limit to love others, Daeron, but you do not know what I am talking about."

"Lúthien, I know what love is like," he muttered. "All too well."

She softened and then said, "I am afraid that my father shall come to hate me."

"You will never lose your father's heart, no matter what you do. His love for you runs too deep."

She walked toward him. When she brushed against Daeron and wrapped her arms about him, her movement caused a shiver to run up his spine.

"Thank you, brother."

"Come now, Lúthien," Daeron moaned. "Let us make a promise, shall we? I will play my pipe again if you sing for me."

"No."

"Lúthien, I am doing all that I can. Even Morgoth knows that you have the loveliest voice in the entire world and that you are the most talented of dancers. You always loved dancing. For how long will you grieve for that mortal?"

"How long should one grieve for a loved lost?"

"One smile. That is all I ask."

"Why did you smile at his trial?" Lúthien demanded suddenly. "Are you happy that Beren is gone and may be dead and that I suffer for it!"

"Why would you make such a claim?" Daeron asked with surprise.

"You laughed when Beren was first dragged here. You laughed at his trial when he was almost put to death! You think he is nothing more than a common criminal!"

"And what else should I have believed?" Daeron said defensively. "Did he not stalk you in Neldoreth? Did he not frighten you?"

"He did frighten me, but that was before I knew him! He is not a criminal! He was a way-worn man, shorn of his lordship, friendless and hunted like a wild beast!"

"I confess that I am glad that Beren is gone, because now he cannot cause suffering to you any longer."

"He is not the one that brought that pain, Daeron," Lúthien said flatly.

"I am only trying to comfort you. Do you want me to leave?"

"If it amuses you!"

"Have you been sleeping?"

"More or less."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

Lúthien managed to laugh, and Daeron smiled triumphantly. But then Lúthien bowed her head and became grave again.

"Daeron, I am sorry."

"What?" Daeron was caught off-guard.

"I am sorry. I am sorry that I did not tell you about Beren. I am sorry I had been avoiding you, for I was. I was afraid. I did not think that you would understand! I feared your anger most of all. I knew that you discerned that I kept secrets from you. Forgive me."

"I am sorry for your suffering," he said, "but do not fear my anger. You were in no position to reveal such a secret."

Daeron was greatly moved, and he began to feel more regretful than ever, but he kissed Lúthien's brow and told her to get some sleep. He was about to leave her, but Jasper the ostler boy entered the room.

"Princess," he was breathless. "He has returned!"

"Who?" Daeron and Lúthien asked at the same time.

"Iavas!"

"He came alone? But I sent him with Beren. Did he send him back?"

"When a horse returns without its master, I would assume that something has happened to that master," Daeron said quietly.

The return of Lúthien's horse riderless had greatly increased her disquiet, and once news of Beren and the Quest became scarcer and less than ample, Lúthien grew worried. Soon, no news was heard at all, and many believed that Beren and Finrod had already perished. Still, Lúthien sent out her messengers and scouts with all the hope she could muster. She rode often into Neldoreth to rekindle memories and to meet the messengers. They all came back, but they came with no news. This robbed Lúthien of all sleep.

"No messages? No news? No rumors at all?" she asked Gelmir.

"Lady, we have not heard a word concerning the Quest. They could have been delayed, or are unable to send messages. You know that they could be far into Angband by now."

"Or they could be dead."

"Well, your highness, Arminas and I will send out all our scouts. We shall keep looking, and if ever you want to end the search, you may. But we shall not end our hunt unless you command it or unless we know, for certain, what has become of the company."

"Thank you, lord."

"Beren made us promise him that we would care for you while he was away," Gelmir answered, smiling. "We are only doing our duty."

Daeron too was beginning to have difficulty sleeping fussing about Lúthien. He was in the gardens one day when he saw Lúthien sleeping on the grass there.

"Lúthien?"

"What?" she asked groggily. "Who is it?"

"Were you sleeping?"

"Daeron?" Lúthien rubbed her eyes and stretched. "What are you doing here? The courtiers are not meeting today."

"I know. I only came to see you. You look terrible! Did you get any sleep last night?"

"If I did, I cannot know. If I fell asleep at all, I was not aware of it. I must have been asleep!"

"Lúthien, I am concerned about you."

"You are always concerned about me!"

"I have a few herbs here that may help you sleep."

"No! I do not want to sleep!" she cried, knocking the basket of herbs away from her as though it were full of spiders.

"Lúthien, you need to sleep! Perhaps then you would not be so irritable!"

"Every time I close my eyes I have that same dream again! I do not wish to have that nightmare again!"

"Nightmare?" this alarmed Daeron. "What nightmares?"

"I have had a recurring dream. Beren is cast by a shadow into a dark pit. I suddenly hear terrible cries and see blood dripping from dungeon walls. Then Beren is cast up and swallowed by the jaws of a wolf. Daeron, it has rather shaken me."

"Will you be all right?"

"No. Not until I hear that Beren is safe. Now could you leave me alone for a little while? You have been following me around ever since Beren left, and do not dare deny it!"

"I do not deny it. I am afraid that if I were to leave you alone, you would start to think about Beren, and since he is already dead . . . "

"No. Beren is not dead."

"Lúthien, do not lie to yourself. We both know there have been no tidings since he left Nargothrond. The only thing we have is gossip. The rumors say that Beren and Finrod-"

"I know of the rumors, Daeron, but I do not believe one word! Beren is not dead and no one can ever convince me otherwise!"

Lúthien stormed away, and Daeron did not follow after her. He was beginning to wish that he had just killed Beren when he had had the chance and saved Lúthien from all this suffering. He hated to see her in this way.

Lúthien did much thinking and finally went to find her mother. She knew that, if anyone did, Melian might know where Beren was and what condition he could be in. After all, she was a Maia, and they could look out into the lands with their far-seeing eyes, or so it was rumored. Melian had never told her the extent of her powers. She found her mother in the gardens tending to her birds and approached her warily.

"There you are," Melian said, a nightingale perched upon her hand. "I was waiting for you. What is on your mind this time, my daughter?"

"Mother," she said, her voice trembling. "I must tell you something."

Then she told her mother that she had been having nightmares. All the while, Melian listened intently but said nothing, much as she had expected.

"Do you know what this dream could mean?" Lúthien asked once she had finished.

"You could decipher the meanings of the dreams in unending ways. You are also the one that dreamed them, and not I. But remember, Lúthien, that they are only dreams. They are not real and usually do not mean anything. The Valar may send you dreams, but such dreams are particularly rare and it is not easy to understand their message. It is my belief that you are only anxious."

Lúthien was not satisfied with this answer, "I know what you say, but these dreams are different. I wake up each night in a cold sweat. Sometimes, I do not sleep at all for fear of that dream. Even though I do not always remember what is in the dream, it terrifies me. I am convinced that they do have a meaning, and that they are all tied up with Beren."

"How can you be so certain?" Melian's tone was a little sharp.

"Some things require no proof to the beholder. Now tell me some part of what your dark eyes see! Tell me where Beren's feet are wandering! What foes has he met? Oh Mother, tell me, does he live still treading the desert, in forest of beech and elm, or on hill or in mountain? Do the sun and moon shine above him or do the rains fall on him?"

"And you suppose that I know?"

Years of frustration suddenly came bursting from Lúthien. She found Melian's answers not only useless but hurtful. "You have been hiding something from me, Mother. You know what has happened," Lúthien said accusingly. "You have known much and more about me and my fate and withhold it from me purposefully!"

"I have withheld nothing. I know nothing for certain."

"What are you so fearful of? What have I ever done to deserve this treatment from you!"

"This treatment? What do you mean, child?" Melian burrowed her eyebrows.

"All of my life, I have strived to be like you! Surely you know this. I once sought your affection and approval too, but I long ago ceased that. Do you know why?"

"No," Melian sounded confused.

"Because no matter what I did, you never responded. You rarely gave me praise or criticism. With father, I always knew where I stood with him. If I pleased him he showered me with adoration. If I was troublesome, he would lecture me. But you! You would simply watch from the shadows, neither smiling nor frowning. You have never taken his side or my side during our fights. Only on rare occasions would you do so or show me any affection. You were always playing the role of the Queen, never of mother. For years and years I have made up excuses for your actions. Recently my whole world has been turned upside down! I view things with different eyes."

"It is because of that Man!" Melian sounded almost resentful.

"Perhaps! It is because of Beren only because he forced me to open my eyes! Now I am beginning to think that you may have never wanted a child at all. All the times you have ever told me otherwise was all pretense. Or perhaps I disgust you somehow because of what you and father made in me. Perhaps you think me some sort of monster beyond your control. I have never felt any qualms about being a hybrid from father or our people. Father taught me to fear everything on the outside, you played your own part in making me fear myself! I still do not understand myself! What have I ever done to make you hate me so?"

As Lúthien spoke, Melian's mouth gaped open in horror and her eyes widened. She reached out her arms for her daughter. For the first time in her life, Lúthien saw her mother in distress. It astonished her and even frightened her. She often thought her mother incapable of being afraid.

"I have made a grave mistake," Melian confessed. "Lúthien, I have never hated you or blamed you for anything. And yes, I too can feel fear. I can feel pain and anguish. To be truthful I was fearful when I became pregnant with you. I did not know I was capable of having a child though I took on the form of one of the Children. I crossed a boundary when I coupled with Elwë. The Maiar were sent here to observe and aid the Children, not to become one of them. I feared the wrath of the Valar. I feared you would be stillborn. I feared you could never have a normal life. I feared many things. You are not bound by the same rules that I am. I do not know what you are capable of. That is why I have never trained you properly. That is why I advised you to ignore whatever signs of Great Power you possessed. I did not wish you to be punished for whatever sin I might have committed. But whatever sins there was, they were mine. And I feared losing you for it.

"Somehow I have always sensed I might lose you. And so I have appeared cold. I cannot blame you for your doubts, but you must not judge me so quickly. You have hurt me deeper than you could ever know with your accusations. I have been with you all of your youth and maidenhood though you were never aware of it. I have defended you more often than you would think, but out of your earshot. I have reached out and given you moments of sleep when you needed it most. I knew about Beren the moment he set foot in Doriath. I could have prevented you from ever knowing of Beren's existence, but I did not. I kept Thingol and the Sindar from discovering you and Beren for as long as I did. And during his trial, I stayed Thingol's wrath, or else the promise between you two would have been broken then and there in the hall and Beren's blood would have been spilt. I never took credit for these deeds. I feared their consequences. I have been in fear of my actions always. I am full of doubts, but I must always appear strong. You must forgive me, my child!"

"You have hurt me Naneth," Lúthien said after a long silence. "I wish I had known why before now. You have made me pay for whatever imagined sins and fears you have. I will forgive you if only you will do this one thing for me: Tell me all that you know! Answer my questions in full for once in my life! Tell me of Beren and the Quest!"

"The Quest has not suffered the best fortune, Lúthien," Melian answered.

"If you try, do you think that it would be possible to see him?"

"Yes. It could be possible. But are you sure you want to know, Lúthien? I have wished to know the truth of things, and I often regret that I sought the truth at all soon after."

"Yes. It may not ease my sleep, but it most certainly could help me understand these strange nightmares and this vision. Will you try to find Beren for me?"

"It is against my better judgment, but I shall as amends and for you."

Then Melian led her daughter into one of the darkest and deepest caverns of Menegroth. Lúthien had been here with the queen before when she was young. Artanis had also been with them and observed Melian at her great work. It was a small cavern and quite empty, save for a stone table upon which was set an empty basin. Above the basin was a shaft that went up to the surface to let in light and air. Melian carried with her only a lamp and a pitcher of water. Lúthien filled the basin with the water, which was fresh water taken from Esgalduin. She filled it to the brim, but the pitcher was still half full. Melian held aloft the lamp, their only light and waited until the waters had calmed within the basin. The water became as smooth and flat as the surface of a mirror. The stars were reflected within it. Then she turned to her daughter.

"We shall both drink of the waters and look into the basin. Then we shall see what we shall see. Remember: Do not touch the water."

"Mother, I was never as good at scrying as Artanis was."

"That is because Artanis was a maiden grown and has an exceptional gift for it. I focused training her gifts because I could discern them more easily. I chose not to indulge you unless you specifically asked. You were far less confident and more interested in other things at the time. I was relieved because when you did gaze into the mirror to scry, you saw things that not even I could understand, but you would never remember them afterwards. As I said, you are not bound to the same laws as I though you have the same potential. Can you understand now why I feared for you?"

They stood upon opposite sides of the basin and drank the remaining water in the pitcher. Then they clasped hands and gazed into the mirror. It took time, but eventually the stars reflected in the basin began to quiver and fade. The waters were black, and then they began looking out upon the lands of Arda. Lúthien recognized only some of what she saw. She had never been outside Doriath and knew distant lands only from paintings and maps. However, she was able to discern telltale landmarks and even animals native to certain regions. She wondered if her mother was seeing what she saw, but it was imperative not to shift her focus.

The images passed away quickly. Some were fuzzy as though she were dreaming, others were sharp and clear. They were also out of sequence. She had never been fully trained to scry. She had no sure way of knowing what she was seeing. Images of the past, present, or future. She saw Daeron traveling upon some lonely road, head bowed low as he composed some masterpiece. She saw her father with a child she did not recognize on his lap, a boy with angry eyes. She saw Beren searching for her in the woods of Nimloth, crying the name Tinúviel as he pursued her. She began to see some of the strange images her mother had painted.

She began to grow impatient and said, "Enough! Show me where Beren is! Not was or will be! I command you!"

And suddenly the waters began to ripple and Melian gasped. Lúthien heard wolves howling. She saw Beren's face, worn and haggard, lying in a pit with shackles upon his arms.

"No!" she cried. "No! NO! NO!" Her concentration was broken, and the waters were bubbling and smoking as though it were boiling.

"What did you see?" Melian asked quickly. "Tell me before you forget."

"I saw… I saw him," Lúthien's memory was already failing her. "He was in bondage somewhere. I could not tell where. Mother, he is being held prisoner somewhere!"

"I warned you that you might not like what you saw! Tell me, what else did you see? Any detail might help."

"I did not see much else but I heard wolves. Why? You did not see what I saw?"

"No. I cannot command it to show me exactly what I desire as you just did," the queen said grimly. "My poor child, what have I done to you?"

"We must refill it! Maybe I can see more! Maybe I can see what will happen for certain-"

"I cannot allow you to do that! Scrying is dangerous as it is! This is exactly what I feared. But if you truly can command the mirror to show you whatever you wish… No. I cannot allow myself to be tempted too. There are some things that are better not to know. You wanted to know where he is, that was all. Now you have your answer, for what you described is enough."

"Morgoth does not have him, does he?"

"He is a prisoner of Sauron."

"Mother, that is just as horrible!" Lúthien moaned. "Where have they taken him? What have they done to him?"

"He lies in one of the pits of Tol-in-Gaurhoth, the Isle of Wolves. I can only hope that Finrod, the high king of the Noldor, and his companions are alive also."

At these words, Lúthien was silent for a long while. Melian watched her closely.

"Thank you, Mother. I am glad that you have told me the truth. But can you tell me if there is any hope that they may escape?"

"It is impossible for them to escape from the Isle of Sauron. They would have to grow wings."

"Is there any hope that they may still be rescued?" Lúthien asked desperately.

Melian did not speak in return for a long while. She was wondering what her daughter would do if she were to hear her answer. But Lúthien repeated that question many times, her eyes pleading. So at last, she answered her.

"There may yet be a chance that Beren can be rescued. But only one person upon Middle-Earth has the power or the will to do so. And who that person may be, I cannot be sure. Whoever they may be, Man or Elf or some other unknown, it is clouded from me for all of my magic and all of my power. I am sorry."

Then Lúthien felt a wave of horror sweep over her, and dread filled her heart. Melian's heart was sore for her, and she held her daughter close.

"Naneth," Lúthien whispered. "Naneth, you must help me. I know what I must do. No one else upon Middle-Earth will save Beren. I must go myself, despite aught else. Do not laugh at me."

But Melian did not laugh, nor said a word for a long moment. In many things she was wise and forewise, yet nonetheless it was a thing unthought in a mad dream that any Elf, still less a maiden, the daughter of a king that had longest defied Morgoth, should fare alone even to the borders of that horrible country amid which lay Angband and the Hells of Iron. Little love was there between the land of Doriath and Angband, even before the First Battle when Morgoth's power was not yet full-grown.

"No help can I give you, little one," she said at last. "For even if magic and destiny should bring you safely out of that foolhardiness, many things will come afterwards, and on some many sorrows, and my advice is that you should never tell your father of your desire."

"Believe me, such a thought never occurred to me," Lúthien answered. "But if I were to ask him, would he really deny me? He has never deprived me in such a way before. What might he do to keep me here? He would not really lock me up against my will, would he?"

And Melian answered, "I doubt it not."

Lúthien returned to Daeron as it began to grow dark in the world above them and said, "Please, play me music for heart's ache, for heart's despair, and for heart's dread, for light gone dark, and dead laughter!"

"I do not know the tune to revive the spirit at its lowest ebb," Daeron answered, but he took up his pipe and sounded a ditty for Lúthien the fair.

All things halted while his pipe wailed in the hollows, and all business and mirth or sadness was forgotten. Birds' voices failed while Daeron played, and Lúthien no longer anguished for every pain at the sweet sound. When his song ended, she felt compelled. She began to sing Daeron's favorite song. Her voice put all other sounds to shame. He kneeled and embraced her.

"It has been too long since last I heard you sing," he said. "You know how much I appreciate your voice."

"And it is the same for your pipe," she replied. "We really should be siblings. We are birds of a feather when it comes to music. We have long been friends. Therefore, I must ask something of you, and I pray that you will not grudge me of it."

"Ask what you will, Lúthien."

She told him of Beren's predicament and her desire to rescue him and asked for his aid. For a long moment he gazed at her in amaze. He shook his head and attempted to walk away, but she clung to him.

"Daeron, please? If you helped me to rescue Beren-"

"Why should I go into the most dangerous of all the perils of the world to save a mere mortal from his own folly?" Daeron interrupted. "He has brought nothing but sorrow to us all! Look what he has done to you, Lúthien! Seeing visions and having nightmares when you get the chance to sleep. Lack of sleep has put these wild ideas in your head. Before he set foot in our land, you and I still made music and danced in the forests without a care. He has destroyed our play together."

"I know I was absent for long spells without seeing much of you, and it seemed I had forgotten you, but it was not so," she put a hand to his face and smiled. "You are the only person I trust with all my heart. I have not spoken to anyone else of my thoughts save the queen. Will you really betray that trust and reject me so?"

"If I did not come with you, would you still set out to find Beren and be reunited with him?"

"Yes. Yes, I would. Of course, the journey would be all the most difficult and thrice more dangerous without you. All the same, I will not abandon Beren in the hour of his need."

"How do you hope to rescue him, Lúthien? For you are still young of age and a tender maiden."

"Young?" Lúthien broke in. "I have seen mountains weathered down and rivers change course in my lifetime. Tender? You want me to put on mail to prove you wrong? Shall we go now to the armories and have myself fit into some now?"

Daeron laughed out loud and said, "You have never touched a sword in all your life, Lúthien! You have no conception under heaven what danger is beyond Doriath! Unlike you, Lúthien, I have had to journey to Nargothrond and the Wild regions. This land is untouchable, but out there . . ." he trailed off and shivered. "Once you cross the safety of the Girdle, there is no telling what might become of you."

"I know my peril."

"Do you? You have no weapons, and it seems that you have no plans either. Do you have a certain strategy in mind? Any scraps on a rescue attempt? You have nothing, Lúthien!"

"But Beren-"

"I have no love for him!"

"I ask your aid not for him, but for myself, for that very play of which you spoke of aforetime. If you have any love for me at all, you would help me. I remember when you would make me hide behind your back whenever a stranger came by because you were so protective of me. If ever I needed such protection, it would be now."

Daeron turned his back on her.

"I do not ask you to go to that cursed place," Lúthien assured him. "I would never ask you to go into Hell for me. I only ask that you take me within the confines of its gates. I will not bind you to do any more than that. You are a lore master and a minstrel, Daeron. I know that, but you are no craven."

"And for your sake I say nay."

Her look of distress and shattered hope pained Daeron almost more than he could bear. He wished that he could aid her, for he would be of some use. He was no true warrior, but he had trained with blades and had traveled some of the lands of Beleriand and mapped much of the known world himself in his invented script, and his marksmanship was no light matter.

"Perhaps others might aid me. I may not find them here in Doriath, but I know I may meet companions upon the road," she said with a glimmer of hope in her eyes.

"Lúthien, get some sleep and regain your senses."

"I have slept plenty. I slept for many hours before I came to you. Now that I know I am leaving Doriath, I have finally been able to rest!"

"What do you mean?" Daeron's eyes flashed in alarm. "You are already decided on this matter?"

"I will depart Doriath as soon as I can," she answered sadly. "I do not know if I will ever return to my beloved home again, but I may see other lands, just as fair, ere the End."

"You cannot leave Doriath! Your father forbids it."

"Of course my Father forbids it!" Lúthien cried. "That is no longer of any matter. I leave tonight."

"What? I cannot believe that you will do so!"

Lúthien gave him a grave and tragic look. Daeron knew then that Lúthien meant what she said. She was leaving Doriath and flying into the face of danger with a mad purpose.

"You are not going anywhere, Lúthien," he exerted all his persuasive power. "I do not want to sing a song one of these days that speaks of a fair maiden, maddened with love, embracing death as a result. Stay with me, Lúthien. Is there anything that I can say to retain you?"

She shook her head. "No. No, I can think of nothing."

"Can you perceive the odds of a maiden shaking the dark lands of Angband or even the Isle?"

"There is a way. There is a hope for Beren. One and only one person upon this Earth has the will and the power to rescue him. I have the will and the power of my love for him, and I am not the frail girl you name me. Today I name myself a warrior! I have what I need, but I also need you to be there for me, your support and company. I need a guide as well. Your rejection was a little hasty. Now I shall ask you one last time: Will you please help me? Please, Daeron?" she said slowly. "Please, sweet brother? I... I do not know the way!"

Daeron looked into her eyes, shimmering with hope and affection. He was torn, so torn that he felt as though a knife had been stabbed through his bowels.

"No, Lúthien," he said painfully. "And you should not go either."

"I do not even have your support in this matter, and you are my best friend; my brother! It looks like I must fly into peril alone. Such is my fate."

"There are other perils in the world of which you know nothing about."

At these words, Lúthien gasped, and she stared at Daeron with surprise and amazement. "I cannot believe my ears! Has it finally come to this? His very words from your lips! You have become a selfish, cowardly, overbearing ape that only cares that I should be safe and sound forever like a frail, cringing child!"

"What have I done?"

Lúthien scoffed at Daeron. It seemed that she could not believe that Daeron did not know what terrible thing he had done. Then she doubled up in laughter with what seemed to be true madness. Her laughter cut short, and she shoved Daeron. He was not prepared for the assault, and his feet were not firmly planted, and he fell to the ground. She leaned over him, her eyes on fire.

"You know what you did," she hissed, and her voice was ominous. "Well, perhaps not yet."

"You are not yourself! I want no more of these games!"

"I thought you like games! Now guess whose words you have spoken."

Daeron stared at her blankly.

"You have quoted my Father! You have become just like my Father."

Daeron bowed his head with shame, but then he became prideful, and angry. He rose and took her roughly by the shoulders.

"Lúthien, just take one moment and hear yourself! I mean, really hear yourself! You have allowed this mortal to break your heart and break your mind! This is insanity, and I seem to have no power to stop you in your great self-destruction! What do you want, Lúthien? You can be free of Beren forever! You will no longer burn and yearn for him as you do now. Then you can go on living as you had before, when you were happier."

"I was happier than I ever had been when I was with Beren," she answered.

"What do you want me to do!" Daeron shouted. "I have done as much as I could for you, and you just deny my love and my aid. What more can one ask!"

"HELP ME!" Daeron cringed and released her from his grasp. Lúthien covered her face and began sobbing in her anguish. "Oh, please someone help me!"

Daeron sighed, furious with himself. He sat beside her and pulled her hands away from her face, knowing he would have to condone himself, but she sprang to her feet.

"I deny your love and your aid?" she hissed. "What love and aid have you given me in my hour of need? I once called you my brother! I have always known you to be my friend, but I cannot now call you my friend."

Like a well-aimed blow, the words pierced into Daeron's heart. He may never be able to reveal his true feelings and wed her, the daughter of the king, but he could not bear the thought of her despising him for this, the thought that their friendship could be turned to hatred!

"Lúthien, I vow that I will always love you."

Sorrowfully, she said, "In other words, I must fare alone. Tell no one of this."

She left him in a hurry and Daeron was at a loss. He knew it would be futile to follow her, but he was afraid that she was about to set out to do as she had threatened. Then an idea came into his head. It was not the first one he might have preferred, but it was all that he could think of. There was no solution that was quicker. He ran to King Thingol's halls.

"My Lord!" he cried breathlessly. "Lúthien has gone, and I fear that she has gone to seek Beren. She came to me and asked me to aid her! I am afraid that she may destroy herself in her madness! What should I do, my lord? I could think of nothing but to come to you."

Then Thingol looked on him in astonishment and said at last, "You have been true to me all of your life. There shall be love between us ever more. You are a prince in my eyes, master of music. Send for Mablung and Beleg and bring my daughter to me before she is harmed."

Lúthien blinked back tears, wishing she could look back. She wanted to say farewell to Menegroth, her beloved and most hated home. She wanted to say her farewells to her mother. She wanted to ask her if what she had spoken was true. Was there no other way to save the one she loved? Did she have to do this alone? Now that she had escaped, she no longer knew where she was going or what she must do. She wanted to say goodbye to her father. He would never forgive her for this. She wanted to say farewell to Daeron; to reconcile with him. She knew that she would never have the chance. She knew it even then, in her heart. She wanted to look back, to turn back . . .

But I cannot! I will never see them again. Not mother or father, Daeron or Mablung and Beleg. I shall never laugh again.

She wandered into the woods of Neldoreth and stumbled, as Beren had, before the stream of Esgalduin. There she sat and mourned.

"Endless roll the waters!" she said. "To this my love has come at last! To heartache and loneliness, and enchanted waters that are pitiless."


	10. Chapter 10 Hirliorn

Ten

Hirilorn

Lúthien gazed in anguish upon the waters, and then she went to prepare for her journey. She crept back into the Caves and gathered all that she thought she might need. Laisie aided her. Lúthien knew that she could trust her old nanny and the rest of her own personal servants. They packed food, ropes, blankets, and clothing for any weather, and other survival paraphernalia. She pulled back her dark hair, away from her face. She wore rough spun wool and pants, a brown cloak and hood, leather boots, even perfume to further the disguise. Beneath the clothing she wore boiled leather. It was not much protection, but mail would weigh her down. She could not settle for more. Princess Lúthien always walked about in skirts barefooted and bareheaded with her hair usually long and loose. No one would expect to see her in such masculine dress and reeking of cheap perfume. Her dagger was of the steel of Valinor, but her mother had given it to her with her blessing. Queen Melian had given her daughter a sickle dagger to carry with her always when she came of age. Its purpose was symbolic protection, but Lúthien knew her mother would forgive her if she stained it with blood if she was ever threatened.

A sword hung upon her belt. She had felt utterly wicked when she took it from her father's armory. The armorer had recommended it to her because it was the lightest of its kind. It was of Noldoli craft, some of the best steel in all of Arda. The swords and maces out of Valinor were too sacred for her to use simply because of their nature, and they were also too heavy for that matter. The armorer assured her that taking from the armory was not stealing. She was Thingol's heir, after all. What was hoarded in the armory was hers to choose from. He also encouraged her to name her blade. She had named her sword Nightingale because it was so small and delicate. But even though it was not too heavy for her to carry and she had named it, she felt awkward with such steel in her hand and had not the skill of a swordsman. How would a sword serve her if she had little to no experience with swords at all? Any aspiration she had ever had of becoming a warrior had been driven away quickly by her father.

"I would rather not allow my child to play with swords," Thingol had said. "Kingcraft has less to do with war than it does counting coppers, observing the harvests and festivities, and dealing justice."

He had not exactly forbidden her to wield a sword, but he had not approved either. She watched Daeron practice with the master-at-arms longingly. Daeron constantly wanted to practice fencing with her and offered many times to teach Lúthien some tricks, but all they ever did was hack at each other with dead branches shaped into wooden swords. The kindly master had witnessed them at their play and was impressed. He offered Lúthien lessons too.

"You are slender as a willow wand and quick as a cat. You are silent as a shadow and possess a dancer's grace. You have spirit, your father's iron will, and your mother's wisdom. Thingol has gone to war, and there may always be war so long as Morgoth and his minions dwell the earth. It may be necessary for you to don your armor as well one day and play the part of a warrior queen. I cannot imagine the way a Half-Maia would fight. There must be a divine spark in you, little princess. You have enormous potential. I can sense it simmering beneath the surface of your skin!"

This talk of her potential frightened the girl, and so she refused. If anyone ever mentioned her Maia-blood, she always became troubled. It meant that she was different from everyone else. It was not a bad thing, but nonetheless, she was different and alone.

"Father will find out," Lúthien told the weapon master instead, and it was the truth. "He always finds out."

She was not entirely ignorant of weapons, however. The Strongbow had taught her archery and woodcraft. Mablung taught her to ride a horse better than any Elf in the realm, and he also taught her to wield daggers.

"A dagger is a good choice. A bow is only good for long range and a sword requires taxing strength. A dagger requires speed and stealth, which you possess, Lúthien. If you are really desperate, you must use whatever is available to you," Mablung advised her. "Even something as small as a dagger can kill. A blade is a blade."

She could throw daggers accurately from a long distance and had learned how to slip the dagger safely in and out of her sleeve. She was quick on the draw and knew enough of anatomy to pinpoint an artery or vulnerable organ and deal her enemies a fatal blow. Even that might not be enough to protect her. Blood or no blood, blade or no blade, she was a maiden alone.

She said farewell to Laisie and her other servants and slipped from the Caves. She went to fetch her horse, and she stumbled and fell. She lay upon the ground for a moment, terrified to go on. A rush of thoughts were assailing her, and she felt such a terrible throe that she wept again. She was leaving Doriath for the first time in her life, and she felt lost without Daeron at her side. He had not lied when he had told her that Lúthien could not know her danger. In fact, Lúthien had never fully realized that she to what extent she had been shielded from all harm. She was innocent of evil, and she knew now that, if she went on, she would soon be forced to lose that innocence. Beyond the Girdle of Melian, evil and harm could be watching and waiting anywhere. She wanted desperately to turn back, but now she was also afraid to turn back.

Lúthien was not afraid of what harm could touch her when she had taken that last step past the safety and the familiarity of Doriath as much as she was of what her loved ones would do if she returned. Could Daeron ever trust her again or accept her back? If she had not been in such a confused and panicked state and really considered this through her guilt, she would have known that Daeron would have greeted her with open arms.

Then Lúthien thought of her mother. She had not spoken a word concerning Beren and the Quest until Lúthien had begged her. How would her father respond when he learned that his queen had provoked their daughter to fly? Had Melian told Thingol already of what she had asked? No. She would have been placed under house arrest faster than she could say undeserved. But now she wished she had kept her thoughts from even her mother.

She was mortally afraid of what her father would do once he knew she had gone as well, and of what would become of her now. She struggled with guilt and her own self-doubt when her thoughts returned to Beren, and she knew that she had to leave Doriath now if she did indeed wish to save him. She knew that no one upon the Earth would attempt to rescue Beren but she herself. If he truly was dead, as everyone believed and hoped, she could say her farewells to him at least. It was because of her that he had set out upon the Quest. She needed to redeem herself for such a sin. What came after must come. So at last, Lúthien slowly rose from the ground and continued running.

When she reached the stables, she called for her horse, but he did not come.

That is odd, she thought. Iavas should obey every command.

She went to his stall and found him gone. Only the ostler boy Jasper was there. He had agreed to have Iavas ready for her.

"Where is my horse?" she asked Jasper, but he did not answer.

"There is no need for you to worry about him, your highness," said a voice.

Lúthien turned sharply to find that Beleg and Mablung had been there waiting for her, and there were guards there also. Even her efforts to disguise herself were worthless now, it seemed. Mablung and Beleg knew her too well.

"What are you two doing here?" Lúthien cried and halted when she saw Mablung and Beleg.

The two stared at her grimly with their arms folded before them.

"Your highness," Mablung answered politely. "We were given orders that you were not to be permitted a horse, for your father seeks audience with you."

Lúthien stared at Mablung and said, bold as brass, "I formally decline to see him!"

"Nay, dear lady," Mablung whispered, and he took her gently by the arm. "We were given direct orders to escort you back to the Caves, and Thingol told us that we have been given authority over you. He greatly desires to speak with you. He will speak with you."

"I do not need an escort, and I am not going home!" Lúthien said stubbornly, tearing her arm from his grip. "I pray you, bring me my horse! Those are my orders, the orders of your princess! I am leaving Doriath, and if you begrudge me my horse, then I shall go on foot!"

"You are acting like a little child."

"No, you are wrong. Only now am I beginning to grow up and understand the world as it is! I am no longer a child, and when children grow, they are given their own free will!"

"But they also have several obligations and duties that cannot be put aside, especially if you are a princess."

"And what would one of those duties be? To sit in idleness in the Caves and remain my father's pet?" bitterness was in her voice. "I think not!"

Mablung and Beleg looked at each other sadly. They had warned her before, so they seized Lúthien by the arms and began dragging her back to the Caves, even though she struggled against them and wept bitterly.

"Let me go, let me go!" she screamed.

"Forgive us, your highness, but Thingol commanded it," Beleg told her, not looking at her.

"You have always been loyal to my Father, but neither of you can deny that the king has no right to keep me here in Doriath against my will!"

"We agree full-heartedly with the king, Lúthien," Beleg muttered. "And there is a powerful reason as to why Thingol will not let you leave. Now please stop fighting us."

"I thought I had planned everything so carefully," she said. "How did he find out?"

"Trust is a fickle thing."

Someone betrayed me! And then she knew who it was. It was not Laisie or her servants. It was not Jasper the ostler either. It was not her mother either. It had to have been Daeron. Daeron had sung her song to Thingol the moment she had left him. The king had learned all that she had said and asked of him. Then, in fear and amazement, Thingol had ordered his people to bring her back to Menegroth before she could run away.

Lúthien did not stop her rebellion, worsened by the knowledge of her demise. Mablung and Beleg brought her into the Caves and let her fall to the floor. Then they both left the halls as soon as they had come and wept themselves. They pitied her terribly, and the sound of her weeping was horrible to hear because she was always laughing and singing. None had seen her cry besides the king and queen themselves and her friend Daeron. That was why he had left her alone when she had wept.

Her father immediately summoned Lúthien. She refused to come to him, so he came to her. He spoke with grief and amazement, but she did not look into his eyes, and her cheeks were not yet dry from weeping.

"Is it not true that you are planning to go to Sauron's tower alone and rescue Beren?" he asked his daughter softly.

"Daeron told you?" Lúthien sighed, and her voice was sad.

"Yes. He did. He claimed that you had even asked him to join you in your plight."

"And it is all true, my dear Father. All of it. I admit that."

Thingol was silent for a moment. Then he said, "Do you also admit that you were prideful and disobedient towards my commands?"

"It is you, my lord, who is being prideful and rash!" Lúthien snapped.

"I am sorry that I sent Mablung and Beleg after you, Lúthien, but I did not know how else I was going to bring you to your senses. It would not have been so horrible for you if only you had cooperated with them."

"I doubt it would have been any different if I had obeyed their commands! Do I have your leave to go yet?"

"No. You have yet to hear me."

"What do you want me to do, Father?"

"I want you to promise me this: You shall not think of Beren nor speak of him in these halls again. You are to forget him."

"I cannot keep such a promise. It is impossible," she said flippantly.

Thingol frowned, and his voice became less gentle, "Very well, but you must not try to convince any of our people to aid you again."

"I can keep that promise," Lúthien replied bitterly. "Because some people betray your trust."

"There is the last and most important thing that you must promise me. You shall not attempt to leave Doriath again to try and rescue Beren."

"That I most certainly cannot promise, Father," Lúthien said stiffly. "I will go after Beren, and there is nothing you can do to stop me!"

Thingol narrowed his eyes. Lúthien grew afraid of her father for the first time in all of her life. Never before, even when she was about to face punishment as a little girl, had she seen him so angry before.

"Oh, I cannot stop you?" Thingol laughed grimly. "Then if you still feel this impulse to receive the torment of Morgoth's wrath-"

"Father, you are being harsh and unjust. I will never promise not to go after Beren!"

"You will promise me the last, or I shall deal with you harshly!"

Lúthien made no reply, but stared into her father's eyes, undaunted.

"Then I have no choice but to see to it that you do not get yourself killed in the madness of your heart."

At the king's command, a house was built in which Lúthien was made to stay. It was made in angry love and half in fear. Some say that Thingol was being very obtuse by making his own flesh and blood a prisoner within her own realm, but he did not believe that Lúthien truly loved Beren, not unless some evil enchantment had been cast upon her. Thingol loved his daughter and refused to lock her up in the Caves where the light was only that of torches dim and flickering, yet he had to restrain her somehow. He was determined to keep his daughter in Doriath where she was safe. Thingol gathered all his councilors to decide what was to be done. Celeborn had never seen the king look so careworn, and the other councilors agreed. They decided at once that Lúthien could not be locked away in the Caves like a common criminal. None wished to see that fair maid suffer.

"I cannot deprive her the open air," Thingol said. "Daeron, you can testify that she must see the moon and stars."

"Yes," Daeron answered. "But what sort of prison can we find that has no lock or key and can still hold her safely?"

"Her prison must be one that she can grow to love, for she may remain there for a long while," Celeborn advised. "She often climbs in trees. Therefore, let her prison be a tree."

He decided to build a house for her to remain in, but Lúthien could not escape it, for those that built the house itself built it between the three mighty trunks of Hirilorn.

Hirilorn was the queen of trees, for she was a great beech whose branches grew towards the sky and her top roofed the cavernous throne room of Menegroth. The bark of that tree was very smooth and its girth too wide, so that Lúthien, lover of trees and skilled in climbing them, could not climb down or wrap her arms about it to shimmy down, even if she tried to do so without the aid of branches and guards were posted there day and night.

Thingol led her into the house. She refused to look at him. All of her things had been brought there, and there were windows that let in the moon and sunlight. It was an appealing, comfortable house, but Thingol, turning to Lúthien, felt his heart slowly sink, for she had sat down in a chair with a blank look and stared at the table, her dark tresses falling all about her face.

"This is what I feared," she said.

"I do not pity you."

"The first thing I demand of my guards is a bottle of strong wine."

"Lúthien," Thingol struggled with his words. "You created your own prison. Once you make your promise, you may return to the Caves."

"The Caves are a prison as well, Father," she said the word with the greatest bitterness and rose her head and gave him a piercing glance. "At least when I had Beren, I felt free, for once."

Thingol was wrathful and turned to leave and suddenly his daughter spoke again, and her words were almost a plea

"Father, if you do this then I shall never love you more and my body will wither and die in the prison that you make for me. For love you and my mother as I do, I am free to choose whether I go or stay in Doriath, for I am not in your thrall. And at the last Beren will release me and we will ride far away where you will never find us!"

"And how can he do that when he is in a true prison and beyond aid?"

"Leave her alone," Melian said. "She is very sad."

The two climbed down the ladder. Thingol saw the look on his wife's face and sighed, feeling a pang of guilt. He could not endure her glance.

"Look," he said to her. "No one wants to do this, Melian. This is as much an anguish to me as it is to her!"

"My lord," she answered harshly. "I am a Maia, not Ilúvatar, but I am warning you now: By doing this, you are giving Lúthien everything she needs to hate you, and you are also giving her a greater reason to fly into peril after Beren."

"Then must I allow my only child to leave now? Lúthien has grown, and along with her body, her peril has grown."

"And so has yours!"

"What do you advise me to do, lady? Enlighten me!"

"The answer is very simple. Let her go!"

"And allow her to give herself up to the servants of Morgoth? Nay, lady. That is something I cannot do."

"There is another thing you have forgotten, lord. Lúthien is swallowing her own bitterness now, and she is calling her own death to her. She only needs the will, and you are giving that to her! If any evil befalls our only child because of this, the blame can only lie on you. Why would you gamble at such high stakes? You will not let Lúthien go because you are afraid."

"Of the Enemy laying hands on her, yes."

"No. You are afraid that you will lose her, to Beren, forever."

"I know what Lúthien needs," Thingol said, no longer listening to his wife. "Lúthien needs a new suitor."

"A new suitor?"

"Yes. Mablung and Beleg are perhaps worthy enough and would be glad to take Lúthien to wife so that she would forget Beren."

"My lord," Melian said, laughing grimly. "I doubt you could cause our daughter to forget or even forgive such a thing."

"If you do not want to see our daughter so, then perhaps you can put a strain on her with your magic."

"Restrain her? Over the power of evil I have some restraint," Melian answered. "But to our daughter I could not, unless I were to break her mind, and I would not be willing to do it even if you commanded it."

"Then we shall speak no more on this matter."

The Queen looked at him darkly and said solemnly, "The wound is yours."

Daeron came at once to visit Lúthien. He regretted betraying her, and he wished that he had not gone to the king in the first place. Many of the servants and guards around him spoke of the Princess in whispers, recalling how she had wept when she was taken back to her father. She had become miserable and the people began to miss the sound of her voice and the sound of her laughter.

"I saw them take her from the stables," said one of the servants. "In all my days, I have never seen a maiden weep so, and this was much worse because the Princess is one that does not do so often. How long must she be penned?"

"I do not rightly know," Laisie answered, "but you have forgotten that Lúthien has always had bounds set for her."

The blame was mostly laid on Daeron. Somehow the word had been spread that he had betrayed the princess. Few would speak to him and avoided being seen with him. They were punishing him for causing her such suffering. Though they wished to see Lúthien safe, the last thing the people wanted was for her to be kept prisoner in her own kingdom. He knew that they were right. So now, her own kinsman was imprisoning Lúthien, and her spirit would be diminished, however slowly. He knew he could only repent of his deed and confess to Lúthien what he had done and ask her forgiveness, so he came to Hirilorn and asked the guards to call up to her.

"Nay, good fellow," said one apologetically. "The Princess is most distraught. She has asked that there would be no visitors. She stays behind closed doors. We have not even seen her come out to the bay windows. My heart is sore at her captivity. I would set her free, if only I could, but I am loyal to the king."

"No one can blame you for your gentle heart, worthy soldier," answered Daeron. "What is your name?"

"Nimras."

"I wish that my heart were as clean as yours."

"Why do you say this? You seem an honest fellow."

"Because mine has been blackened. Call to the Princess, friend, and you shall hold me grateful."

"Why would you not call to her yourself?"

"She will deny me upon sight, I know it. Call for her highness please."

"Very well."

Nimras called up to Lúthien. She opened the door and sat upon the balcony there.

"What is it?" she called uninterested.

"Daeron the minstrel has come to visit you, my lady," Nimras announced.

Her eyes flashed.

"On second thought," she said. "I do not think I want to see any visitors today. Least of all Daeron!"

"Lúthien, please! I must speak with you."

"No! I do not want to speak with you! You can go tell my Father that I have been thinking about Beren all day long instead! I am sure that a little more snitching on your own behalf would make you feel better, turncoat. Have a good evening!"

"Lúthien!"

She only shook her head and slammed the door of her tree house shut. Daeron went to the window instead, which was open.

"Come now, Lúthien," he said. "Please. You must understand. I have been wishing for your forgiveness."

"My forgiveness? Ha! You come to me and ask me to forgive you of this?"

She laughed dryly. Then she picked up her bowl of water and turned it over. Its contents poured down upon Daeron, soaking him wet.

"There! Perhaps you have finally learned your lesson: Keep your mouth shut! Now go away!"

"Lúthien!"

She shut the window and did not return. Daeron shook his head and shivered from the cold water. The guards stared at him, trying not to laugh.

"I told you: The Princess is most distraught," Nimras said, and he did not smile.

"I would like you to raise up the ladder and let me in to see Lúthien," Daeron answered.

Nimras cleared his throat and asked sincerely, "Would you be willing to take such chances, sir? The Princess' blood boils within her."

"Lúthien and I have known each other since child-hood, and I hope to reason with her."

Nimras shrugged and did as he asked. Daeron climbed up the long ladder and opened the door of the tree house. Lúthien was sitting in the doorway, her eyes wild, and when Daeron opened the door, she was startled at first. Then she was outraged.

"What are you doing in here!" she demanded.

"Lúthien, you hate me?"

"No, or at least I try not to."

"Then will you sit with me for a moment and hear my confessions?"

"I already know what you are going to say, Daeron, and I do not want you here! Go away!"

"You are staying here!" Daeron grabbed her by the arm as she tried to run from him. "You cannot avoid me now, Lúthien."

"Let me go!" she commanded. "Or I shall call for my guards!"

"No. I will not walk away this time, Lúthien. You are going to listen to what I have to say," he said heatedly. "I have only been trying to protect you!"

"I do not want your protection!" she shouted. "I never wanted it! I only wanted your friendship, Daeron! I do not need an Elf or Man to protect me! And when I called upon you in need, you rejected me and you betrayed me!"

"You being the way you are do not need protection?" Daeron snickered.

"Go away!" Lúthien groaned, turning her back on him, but then she said, "Well, what is it that you so urgently need to confess?"

Daeron hesitated, then he took a deep breath and said, "Lúthien, it was I that followed you through those woods. It was I that discovered your secret meetings with Beren. It was I who told your father that Beren was here."

"Oh, that I guessed already," Lúthien muttered, but then her voice rose, and she swerved about. "But that had not crossed my mind until now!"

"Yes, Lúthien, and I ask for forgiveness."

"You wish for my forgiveness?" Lúthien said darkly, taking steps towards him so that he backed away. "After you bring Beren back here and cause my Father to forget all you said to him, then, perhaps, I shall forgive you!"

"If I could, I would, Lúthien."

"You betrayed me twice! And you are my best friend, Daeron! No, you are much more than my friend." Lúthien's face contorted to an expression of pain, and she hesitated. "You... You are my brother. My brother. Why of all people did it have to be you!"

"That is all it takes in this world, Lúthien," Daeron told her. "A friend."

"Daeron, you remember how happy I was when I was still with Beren. You even told me that you had never seen me so happy before. But you destroyed that joy! With a little flapping of your lips, you managed to sever us apart!"

Daeron bowed his head with shame. Lúthien was very angry.

"Why did you do it? Why!" she shouted. "Was it some spontaneous thing, Daeron? Why did you do it!"

"Because I love you, Lúthien, and I always have. Ever since we were children, I loved you. Lúthien, my love betrayed! What madness possessed me when you came to me trusting, and I gave your secrets away? Forgive me. I had to tell Thingol out of love, and out of fear. Fear that you would leave and your beauty depart forever. So I told; I betrayed. I can still see the hurt in your eyes. When you looked at me, it was torment to bear. But then you were locked up; a nightingale in a cage because of me. My heart was in two to see you captured this way while I knew that I was to blame. Oh! To do it over again! I would not betray you, but lend you my aid, although my heart would wrench in two. Yet better that than this guilt!"

Lúthien drew her eyes away from Daeron. She had always known of Daeron's love for her and wished it away. She loved him, but only as a sister might love her brother. He was her brother, no more, no less.

"Why reveal this to me now, Daeron?" Lúthien moaned. "Why did you choose this time?"

"I feared it was too soon, but now I fear it is too late."

Lúthien considered this choice that had been put before her. She loved Daeron, and, unlike Beren, he was of her own kin. Beren may be dead at that moment, and she knew it. But it only took a few moments for her to decide.

"Daeron," she said, "know this. You are part of some of my fondest memories. My love for you is pure."

"And yet you warmed to a mortal so quickly!" he sighed and then repented, "I am sorry. I am jealous. That powerful emotion overtook me. I know it was wrong, but when I told your father that you were going to leave Doriath, it was for your protection, and not for my own benefit, as it was when I delivered Beren unto your father. I feared that you would be taken captive. And, Lúthien, I would have been devastated."

"Get out."

"Please, Lúthien-"

"I order you to get out!" Lúthien raised her voice to the top of her lungs. "Leave me be! This is the prison you made for me. Even though you regret it now, that does not change anything! You cannot undo all that you have done! The least you can do for me now is to leave me in peace! So get out!"

Daeron was sorely hurt by her words. He wanted to stay and beg for forgiveness for all the pain that she now suffered. But he climbed down the ladder and made for his home and he himself wept.

Lúthien repented of her words immediately. She opened her door and called for Daeron to come back, but he knew better.

"I said my love for you was pure. To prove that, I forgive you," she called to him. "I forgive you!"

He heard. She knew that he had heard because he halted and then hid his face. He never again played his pipe in Doriath. He had saved his music for Lúthien. She stood there and watched him leave, tears falling from her eyes as they had never done before. And once again her thoughts turned to Beren, and she wished for him all the more. She knew that she would not change anything weeping and doing nothing else. She had a plan.

"Lúthien," she said to herself. "Enough weeping like a little girl! You must be a warrior, not a delicate flower. Be joyful in all your trials! I personally have had enough of trials! It is time for some tribulation!"

She sprang to her feet, wiped away her tears, and called down to her guards.

"I would like you to bring me a spinning wheel and a loom so that I may pass away the weary hours."

Nimras brought to her what she asked, but the asking of this wheel had sparked his curiosity, so he asked, "What will the lady weave?"

"I am going to weave out a miracle," she answered and closed her door.

Nimras was greatly confused by this answer, but Lúthien collapsed at her door. For the first time, she had not fallen into a storm of weeping, but into silent laughter.

"They will give me everything I ask for, except my freedom," she said bitterly. "Beren, I will get out of here. I have a plan. I will see you again and hold you in my arms soon. Hang on a little longer, and I will be right behind you."

Lúthien began to prepare the spinning wheel for her work. Nimras came to her several hours later and gave her a gift that was wrapped in leaf wrappings. Lúthien opened the leaf wrappings to find several cakes. She recognized that they were lembas, way bread that was filling and pleasant. They were also nutritional, perfect for long journeys. Only her mother Melian could have made these, for she had concocted them and taught only Galadriel and her daughter the recipe. Lúthien smiled and packed the way bread away, telling Nimras to give her thanks to her mother.

Now Lúthien was not ignorant of spells and magic. After all, she was the daughter of a Maia, and very powerful in magics, and she believed it was time to use her knowledge and wit to escape. After much planning that came into her head as though they had been whispered into her ear, Lúthien conceived in her thought a plan to cunningly escape from her prison.

She called down to the guards that night, asking for a bowl of water and a bowl of wine. This the guards did and brought her the wine and the water. They raised up the ladder and handed them to her. She smiled a strange smile at the guard that handed them to her. Her smile had him so flummoxed that he almost fell from the ladder. He blushed furiously and began his decent on the ground. Lúthien laughed and closed the door softly behind her, and Nimras did not think anything of it.

Now over the two bowls with each window shut, Lúthien was in doubt. All Elves had a power within them that no mortal could ever possess. That power had held at bay the power of Morgoth years ago, but Lúthien had a much greater power than that of the common Elf. She was half Maia, and the magic of the Maiar was the magic and awesome power of Ilúvatar himself. However, her powers did not work unless it was Ilúvatar's will.

Now, Lúthien's Maia powers were flowing through her willfully as she called upon heaven for the power to make her hair grow. Then she blessed the two bowls and mingled their contents together in another, crushing powdered herbs into the bowl. She dipped her hair into the liquid and used the spell of sleep. Her hair had begun to weigh her down, and, drained by her efforts, she slept. As she slept, her hair began to grow rapidly. When she awoke before dawn, her hair was indeed long, and she cut her hair back to its normal length with her sickle dagger. Her hair would grow naturally ever after.

Then she spun with her wheel a long rope, and there was no yarn, wool, or thread, only her own hair. Lúthien gathered a few things before she climbed down from her window, food and clothing and the like. She slipped from her dress to breeches and a blue tunic. She knew she could not venture out alone without a weapon. Nightingale had been taken from her, and she did not dare wander through the Caves gathering all the rest they had taken from her. Her dagger would not be enough.

She carved a staff from a branch of Hirilorn herself. It was only for show. Her enemies would believe it was the source of her magic and strength. She wove a shadowy cloak that covered her from head to foot. It was a cloak made of her own hair, and enchanted with the same magic as the rope. It would be her true weapon. She wrapped it around her and knew that she was prepared.

At last, Lúthien threw down the rope from her window and let the tip sway in the wind. The guards below had no time to react to the rope. Drowsiness overcame them first. Soon, their eyelids became heavy and they dozed off.

She felt the earth beneath her feet and smiled. She had escaped from her prison; the prison that she should not have escaped from. Then she looked at the sleeping guards and laughed.

"I hope that my Father is not too harsh on all of you," she said. "Especially you, Nimras. Sweet dreams."

She pulled her hood over her head and let out a long, low whistle. Iavas came galloping towards her. She stroked him and climbed onto his back.

"At last! Are you up for a long ride tonight, Iavas? Yes, we are leaving Doriath. Beren is in trouble, and it seems that we are in this together. You shall be all the company I get. You know the way, Iavas. Noro lim!" she commanded and the horse obeyed, galloping off into the forests. She never glanced back, and she felt a joy as she passed through the girdle and entered into the Wild Lands. And so she escaped from Doriath unseen and began her journey to rescue Beren.

When Nimras and the other guards awoke at long last from their deep slumber, they saw that the princess had somehow escaped. They were afraid of the harsh punishment that Thingol would give them for dozing off, for they had no explanation as to how they could have all suddenly dropped off at that same moment. They were all decent fellows and had never fallen asleep on duty, but not even their clean record could spare them of sentencing. It was an uncanny coincidence, and they knew that the king would never buy their testimony, so in fear of their lives, they gathered their things and fled from Doriath.

Daeron was the one who had to report to Thingol that his daughter had gone, although he had vowed that he would never do so again. But he had come to see Lúthien once more, hoping that he could raise her spirits. He saw that all the guards were gone and was startled. He halted. But then he saw that there was one last guard that was staring down into the dirt. He recognized him as Nimras and called to him.

"Hi! There are supposed to be five of you!"

"They have fled," Nimras answered quietly, full of shame. "For their lives, no doubt, but I am willing to face my punishment."

"What do you mean?"

"I have failed in my duty."

Daeron was horrified by what these words may mean, but he said, "Quickly! Raise the ladder and allow me to see Lúthien!"

Nimras laughed and nodded, saying, "I will raise the ladder for you, sir, but you will find no princess."

Then Daeron realized that Lúthien had escaped and was now on her way to Sauron's tower alone and unaided. He fell to his knees in devastation and anguish and regret. Sobs rose in his throat, and then he wept.

"Lúthien!" he cried in lament. "Why have you gone? Did you know not that I was here for you and would have aided you? Now I am alone, and your blood is upon my hands also!"

At last, Daeron rose to tell the king what had happened, even though he did not want to. He had no other choice.

Thingol was very wrathful, but he too was grieved at the news. All the deep places of his court were in uproar, and he sent his greatest hunters and warriors, including Mablung and Beleg, into the wilderness and the woods of Doriath, seeking for his daughter and his only heir. Soon the woods were ringing with the search, but Lúthien was already far away through the dark woods towards the gloomy foothills and the Mountains.

Melian had only sighed when Daeron came into those royal halls and told her and Thingol the ill tidings of Lúthien's escape. She had expected no less from her own daughter, and she was also very proud of her, but she did not tell this to Thingol.

All of those people of the Sindar were most grieved, and many wept that their fair and wonderful princess was missing. No one could find her for all of their skill and hope, not even Beleg and Mablung, but Thingol kept them going on the search, and Daeron goaded the king strongly to keep searching for her all the while. But he would sit in that house where Lúthien had been imprisoned, mourning for her. Melian pitied him above all, for she had always known of the love he had had for her daughter, even though she had kept this only to herself.

She came to him where he sat. He did not notice her come in. She had not made a sound, and she slipped in so suddenly that he did not see her. Then she sat down beside him, and he jumped, startled.

"Pardon me, Daeron," she said. "I just knew that I had to do something to save you from your gloom."

"No, sweet lady, you cannot save me from my grief."

"Daeron, do you not know that Lúthien is a maiden of Elfinesse like no other, and that she is safe?" Melian asked him.

"Do you know where she is?" Daeron asked eagerly, coming to the light again for a brief moment. "Surely you, as a Maia, can trace her?"

"No, Daeron, I cannot. She is clothed in her own arts of enchantment, so I cannot find her. But I know that she is safe, Daeron, so be comforted! Do not mourn for her as though you had lost her forever. You know that she loves Beren, and that she would have set out on her quest sooner or later. Do not take the blame of anything that befalls her. Whatever happens to her, it was by her own fate."

"I thank you for your kind words, Queen Melian," Daeron answered. "But I did betray her. If we do not hear tidings of her in the next few days, then I shall go myself to find her."

Then Melian smiled and nodded with understanding. But she said, "Lúthien is bound to Beren. She has a special place for you in her heart, although she did not know your thought of her-"

"You knew I loved her?" Daeron cried in amazement.

Melian laughed and answered, "I know love when I see it, and you made it very obvious, Daeron! Her heart was given to Beren long before she knew it. That doom, I fear, was written upon her the moment she was born. Though you betrayed her, Daeron, you shall not be the last that does so. I cannot fight that doom for all of my power and love. I must be content knowing that Ilúvatar is guiding her now. You cannot fight the doom either, though you loved her also. So come down from your tomb, Daeron! Grieve no more. I long for Lúthien to return as well, but this is the beginning of the end. Yet all is well as ends well, as you children say."

"You are wise, my lady," Daeron said. "I will do as you say, but never shall I forgive myself. My heart shall be filled with regret until the earth ends."

"Not with regret, I hope."

But no tidings of Lúthien came. Thingol was in a state of mingled wrath and grief.

Daeron came to Melian, and he was very sad and downcast.

"My Lady, I must entrust this into your keeping."

He gave his pipe to Melian.

"It is to be given to Lúthien if she is found or comes home again," Daeron explained. "I intend to search for her myself."

"Can nothing I say dissuade you?"

"You dissuaded me once, Melian. Could you do so again? Why not give it a try?"

"Somehow I know that I cannot delay your departure any longer," she answered. "You require healing that Doriath cannot give. Not many here can compare their sorrows to yours, Daeron."

"This is my fault, and I am afraid that I cannot endure my guilt. I wronged her, yet she forgave me still, and she called me her friend. Somehow that was worse; love undeserved than hatred well earned. Now she has left me forever, after the man who captured her heart. Lúthien! Beauty now forever past! I shall never again gaze into your eyes. I will sing until I pass away. Of Lúthien my love betrayed."

Then Daeron the minstrel left Doriath in search of Lúthien and never returned. Many believed he had lost himself and darkness fell upon him. But others say that he lived and sang with regret beside the Sea. It was he that wrote the Lay of Leithian that told of Beren and Lúthien, and his songs thereafter spoke of Lúthien the fair and of his love that never did fade.


	11. Chapter 11 Celegorm the Fair

Eleven

Celegorm The Fair

Lúthien had been traveling west though the lands, succeeding in crossing the bridge of Sirion and wandering into Nivrim after purposely becoming lost several times. She had to avoid her father's scouts. When she had set out, for a long while, she had heard them following her trail and calling her by her name. They had passed her by many times and had never spotted her. She had recognized several of those searching for her. Some she cared for. Mablung and Beleg had almost spotted her in the undergrowth as she scrambled out of their range of sight. Their woodcraft was legendary, and if the two were not in such a state of distress, they surely would have caught her and dragged her to her father as they had done before. Because of her cloak, she blended easily within the shadows of the forest, and Mablung had taught her some of his own wood lore. She was no master of the art, but she knew that water could throw almost anyone off her trail. She relied on the river to lose them, and now, she could no longer hear them calling for her at night.

Lúthien had felt very guilt-ridden that she had caused her people so much woe and had forced them to search for her in vain, hoping she was still near her home. Not one of them had expected her to get very far. Thingol was far too overbearing, and she was little more than a girl in most eyes.

They never dreamed that I might really escape, she thought with some bitterness. They thought I would shut out the world with all its cruel troubles and weep until my hair turned white. Even now they probably think that I shall come crawling back to my father's door, begging forgiveness and renouncing my foolish pursuit of a mortal's life and love . . .

She remembered the look upon Mablung's face, and of how she had almost revealed herself to him so that she could return and stop the suffering she had caused. She yearned for home already, and she was petrified thinking of the road ahead. But every time she was tempted to turn back, that horrible vision would return, reminding her of Beren's predicament and of the suffering he must endure for her sake. Mablung's haggard look of distress and disappointment broke her heart, but she continued on, forcing it out of her mind.

Though she was alone and always in peril, Lúthien gradually began to feel at ease. She had never felt more alive and independent. The bodyguards were gone, the repetitive schedule of life in Menegroth a memory. The moment she stepped out of the borders of Doriath, she had felt a sort of metamorphose, an awakening.

She was not a girl any longer.

Lúthien stood shielding her eyes from the afternoon sun that shone brightly down through the trees. The forest floor was lit up with a golden light, and it was bright and warm. It was a pleasant day, but she was not used to sunlight, and it burned as the moon could not. She concealed herself in the protection of the trees and kept her hood low over her eyes. She wished she could stop for a brief rest and wait until nightfall to go on, but she also knew that it was the dark of night that was so often feared with seasonable reason.

In times of peace, or in sheltered Doriath, the night was deeply coveted, and the stars revered. Her people often wandered the forests on warm nights; the young warriors would even hunt during the day. The Sindar held a great festival every year where they built up great bonfires and asked for Ilúvatar's blessing. Lúthien always loved those celebrations. She would dance before all her people, and Daeron would accompany her with his pipe, and sometimes he would set it aside to sing a duet with her . . .

Lúthien bowed her head and began studying the land, trying to remember all that she had learned of geography. She knew Doriath well. She had gone as far as the Girdle beforehand, exploring every part of her kingdom, but now she had left it, perhaps forever, and she was unsure of these lands. She was no tracker, and all she had to guide her was her own knowledge of wood-lore and her faith. She began to wish more than ever that Daeron were with her. He would have been the best guide in all of Doriath, save Mablung and Beleg.

Lúthien began to wonder: If she had asked Mablung to aid her, would things have turned out the way they had? Mablung had never troubled to hide his opposition at the way Thingol safeguarded her and once complained that he wearied of the task of guarding her ceaselessly.

"Believe me," he had told her once as she sat miserable in her prison, "I would set you free, if I had the audacity. Perhaps you do not need such protection. Perhaps you only need someone to protect you from your father!"

It had made her laugh. She had needed the levity. But was he not the most loyal of all the king's captains?

He at least would not have run to my father the moment I had gone. He might have given me a chance to be on my way. Mablung would not so easily betray me. But what is done is done. Beren is all that matters. I will only rest for a moment, she decided. I shall wait for the moon to rise. Perhaps then I can see where I am going!

But she quickly changed her mind. She thought she heard Beren calling out for her in agony. She realized again that any of the moments spent in repose could be Beren's last. She hated the notion of it, and she tried not to think about it, but it was never far from her mind.

If Beren were truly dead, I would sense it, would I not?

Suddenly, there was a commotion in the forest. She glanced about her with fear and strained her ears. It was not long before she heard trumpets being blown, the sound of many horses, the cries of many fell voices, and the howling of wolves upon the wind.

"What if it is a host of Morgoth!" she said in a hoarse whisper. "Could it be, as my father warned, that the Enemy may have gotten wind of my wandering?"

Before Lúthien could make a move to escape, there came a large pack of wolves. They were not wild wolves. They were wolves sent from Tol-in-Gaurhoth to spy out the lands. Since Sauron had caught Beren and Finrod, he had been filled with deep suspicion, and he believed the Noldor were seeking to take back their old stronghold, Minis Tirith. He had long feared such an evil thought, and in the wild, his spies would learn many things.

There were eight wolves, some gray and limber, some white with long, silken coats, some with brown hair and bristling. These were also the swiftest, and their leader had a coat of ash and strong limbs. Her sweet scent was easy to catch, and they did not need to see her to catch her! They surrounded Lúthien, and the ashen one saw her and curled his upper lip, showing his teeth like ivory swords slipping from their sheaths. She seemed an easy target, alone and far from aid. She took a few timid steps back. The wolf took a few strides forward.

"Stay back," she said in warning.

The wolf turned away from her, seemed to nod to another, and the wolf leapt forward.

Lúthien drew her dagger and thrust the blade. The wolf drew back with a whimper. The dagger had been well aimed and had pierced near his heart. But such a wound cannot prohibit the fury of Sauron's wolves, the wolves that were bred in the Isle. A light was lit from deep within its eyes for vengeance, and it snarled at the others. Three bore forward as the chief drew back. Lúthien was not easy to keep pace with, for she sprang about like a deer. But the wolves were gaining the rear, and she knew she could not keep this chase up forever. She was prepared to use her cloak and her enchantments in defense.

At the exact moment that she halted and clasped at the broach at her throat, there came suddenly howling out of the woods a beast most fair and noble. He too had picked up Lúthien's scent while on the hunt. This beast had a name. His name was Huan the Hound of Valinor. His coat was gray, and he was wolfish, yet he was a bitter enemy of wolves and werewolves, and Huan was a fierce enemy. He was unlike any dogs that wandered upon Middle-Earth, for he came from the land of the Valar. He had been born to one of the greatest hounds of Oromë himself, the Vala of hunting. As a young pup, Oromë had given Huan as a gift to one small Elvin-child who had made friendship with the Lord of the Hunt. That Elvin-child was named Celegorm the fair. Celegorm and Curufin were there in the outskirts of Doriath hunting.

Huan put himself before Lúthien and the wolves. She darted away into the trees. She did not know yet if the hound was good or ill, for he looked more than half a wolf himself. She thought him only an animal, and she knew that animals were all too willing to fight for their food. She took off her cloak and prepared to cast it over the hound's eyes if he came for her once he had finished with the others.

Huan let out a threatening growl. The wolves came to a dead halt. They feared Huan as they feared Death. Their chief was bold enough to challenge him, but Huan took one long stride and clamped his jaws into the wolf's back. The wolf howled and tried to free himself, but Huan made a small jerk with his jaws and the wolf lay paralyzed with a severed spine and was absolutely helpless.

The seven wolves then made to gang up on the hound, but their combined strength was of no avail. Huan was even larger than they and quicker. In a tenth of a second, he tore open the throats of two more wolves. There were only five left alive, the smaller brown ones. They turned and fled, but Huan pursued them, and Lúthien heard whimpers and agonized howls, and then there was silence.

She dove into the jungle of thickets and held her breath. Huan came near to her hiding place again, unhurt and not even fatigued. He had come to finish the leader off, for he still lay there, unable to move, his heart laboring. Huan took him by the neck and made sure that the wolf's death was quick and painless.

Lúthien turned her eyes away, and Huan did at last discover where she was, for he smelled her scent. It was a sweet scent mixed with fear. He knew that he would have no trouble bringing her out of her hiding. He passed by the thicket, and for a moment, Lúthien believed that he had gone and left her, satisfied with the eight carcasses lying nearby, but Huan had come up behind her and poked his head in through the thicket. He let out a bark of greeting that was so loud and so close to her sensitive elvish ears that Lúthien let out a scream and quickly covered them. Then she sprang back.

"Do not come any closer, Warg!" she said in warning.

Huan growled, for the name Warg did not suit him. Lúthien felt provoked and threw her cloak over his eyes, but he did not fall into slumber, which was strange indeed yet not so, for he was a hound of Oromë, and no magic of Lúthien's could touch him. She stared at him, terrified and bewildered. Her cloak held a strong spell and Huan had not even blinked an eye! What did that mean? Was he a powerful demon or something divine? Then Huan let out another bark, causing Lúthien to cry out again and hastily put her hands over her ears. He seized this chance and clamped his jaws around her slender arm.

"Hey!" Lúthien shouted in alarm, but she could not pull herself from the hound's grip. His strength was marvelous. Had she not witnessed this for herself! He pulled her from the thicket and she let out a little cry as his teeth scraped her skin.

"Foul, unmerciful creature! Let me go! I have to save him! I cannot be hindered! I have great perils yet to face! Have you not spilt enough blood? No, of course not. All wolves require the purest blood."

He did not loosen his terrible grip, but then he studied his prize, admiring her beauty and realized that she needed aid. He was moved to pity. Huan was not moved easily. He was a Wolf-Hound and was suspicious of all beings. Lúthien had set no enchantment upon him, her words alone bought his love. He released her and received her cloak for her. Lúthien hesitated, and then she snatched it back and stared at the hound. He cocked his head and stared back, mimicking her. Lúthien tried hard to communicate with him. By the might of her Maiar blood, she could communicate with some animals, but she received nothing from this beast.

"I thought you were a wolf," she said. "But I guess you are not. Please forgive me for naming you a Warg. You have saved me and I thank you for it."

She hesitated, and then she reached out her slender arm and cautiously patted the hound on the head, fearing he would snap off her fingers. Huan briefly showed her his teeth and she dropped her hand. He raised himself to his feet and came towards her so that his nose almost touched hers. She did not dare to move. He snuffed the air about her, taking in her scent. It was a clean, unsullied scent, no longer tinged with fear. He approved and licked at her face. She turned her face away and laughed. Then she reached out her hand again to stroke him, and he permitted her to do so. The hound seemed harmless now, and Lúthien began to scratch him behind the ears. He rolled over, his tongue flopping out.

"You are just a big puppy!"

Huan nuzzled her with his nose, making her laugh again. Then Lúthien saw a bright glow of silver around the hound's neck. She looked closer and saw that the hound was wearing a handsome collar.

"Well, you must belong to some pompous lordling," Lúthien muttered. Now, who is your master, I wonder?"

Lúthien ran her fingers over a symbol that the collar bore. It was black, but the symbol shone in bright mithril, true silver, and the worth of that metal was ten times that of gold. The symbol was a seven-pointed star with many rays. It was white upon black. She mused upon that. Her father's sigil was gray for his name Gray-mantle, and at its center was a pale white crescent. Perhaps it would have been better suited for the Sons of Fëanor. A burning ship might have ringed home even better. She recognized the Sons of Fëanor's emblem, but it disquieted her. It had become a symbol of hatred and evil to the Teleri, her father's allies. They mourned their dead sons because of it.

"The star of Fëanor!" she wondered aloud. "The Sons of Fëanor are your master, or one of them at least."

Huan cocked his head at her again. He whimpered and took Lúthien by the sleeve, but this time, he was gentle and did not sink in his teeth. Lightly he lifted her, and she let out a cry of protest.

"Wait! Where are you taking me?"

Lúthien had never met any of the Sons of Fëanor, but her father had spoken of that House with nothing but scorn. Elsewhere, Lúthien had heard that the seven brothers were heroes among the Noldoli. It depended upon whom you asked. Beren had never mentioned Celegorm and Curufin to her in the messages they smuggled to and fro to each other, so she did not know of the death threat they had given him nor that they greatly opposed the Quest and its purpose. Huan had taken her by the sleeve, and she knew she could not resist him.

Huan dragged her forward for a bit, then he released her and barked. Then he ran about the trees in mindless circles and zigzags so that she could just glimpse a patch of his silver fur before he disappeared. Lúthien followed after him.

Huan led her to the entrance of a cave where Celegorm and his brother Curufin were resting with their hunting party. From inside the cave, Lúthien could hear singing and laughter. She wrapped her cloak around her and hid her face within her hood as Huan entered the cave. His mighty voice rose above the din. The music stopped and the laughter died down.

"Ah, so my loyal friend has returned without so much as one wolf-skin!" laughed an Elf, his voice rich and musical. "What have you been doing? My party killed three wolves and almost had a red stag, the largest that I have ever lain eyes upon. If you had remained with us, Huan, we would now be feasting upon venison, not mere rabbits. You would have been given a joint of your own fresh from the carcass."

Huan growled and the Elf laughed again.

"What did he say?" inquired another voice, softer and colder.

"He boasts that he killed eight wolves and left their corpses for the crows and the other scavengers."

"Eight! That puts us to shame!" roared the party. "Why did he wander off in the first place?"

"He said it was an intoxicating scent in the woods. He told me to continue the hunt without him while he investigated it."

"Is that so?" said the soft voice. "It is not like him to go wandering off over a certain smell. It must have been an intoxicating scent indeed to have driven the Wolf Hound from the task of hunting wolves."

"He has found the source as well," said the first voice.

Huan exited the cave and stood beside Lúthien, demanding that she pet him again. She stooped and began stroking him, listening intently to the anonymous voices. There was soft laughter, and Lúthien's heart rose a little with encouragement. A few moments later, a tall Elf stepped out of the cave.

Lúthien's breath caught in her throat. The Elf was not near as tall as her father. Few could compare to Thingol, but he was a good head taller than she. He seemed to tower over Lúthien. His hair was like polished jet, lustrous and long. His eyes were not blue-gray or flecked with green. They were pure blue, blue as the fabled sapphires of Manwë. There was a twinkle in his eyes, and his mouth was made for wicked grins. He carried a glittering sword at his side, and he wore a handsome suit of black mail encrusted with diamonds shaped into the sigil of his House. His leggings were supple leather and black like the rest of his clothing. Gloves, boots, and cloak were black and lined with white wolf-skin. There seemed to be a charm about him and his presence demanded respect.

He was obviously one of the princes, but which one? She tried to recall every detail she had learned of the Sons of Fëanor. Meadhros was the eldest, but Morgoth had taken his hand and left him maimed and bitter. This Elf clearly had two good hands. The second-born was Maglor, the black sheep of the family that had taken up the harp and become a minstrel. Curufin was the fourth brother and a smith, called Curufin the Crafty. Caranthir was the next brother, the most ill tempered, and never smiled. The youngest sons Amrod and Amras were identical twins, alike in look and mood and rumored to have red hair, a rarity in the Eldar.

This one must be the third son, Lúthien decided. Celegorm the Fair, and by all reports he was the most ambitious and dangerous of the seven. For a moment, Lúthien considered leaving then and there. She could report Prince Celegorm's trespasses to her father if she ever returned to Doriath. But she could not simply leave.

Despite Lúthien's doubts, she really had no choice but to risk this chance. The princes could be useful allies. How many Elves were with him? She peered into the cave and counted three score, all equipped with mail and steel. Celegorm had the most swords sworn to him of all the Noldoli. He was also King Finrod's vassal. If the prince had a shred of loyalty and honor in him, he would have no choice but to aid Lúthien in her cause. Their infamous Oath required him to join her also. The Silmarils were by rights his and the other brothers. Her heart became full of hope and relief. She might not have to go to the tower of Sauron alone after all.

The Elf saw Lúthien and laughed. She was a stranger, and she had wrapped her shadowy cloak about her and had lowered her hood past her eyes in disguise. She held the staff of ordinary beech wood in her hand for plain sight and she was barefooted. In order to cross the streams and rivers, she had taken them off and neglected to replace them. Never had the Elf beheld such prey.

"What on earth is this? What have you brought me, Huan?" the Elf asked the hound at his side. "Say! Is it dark elvish-maid, wraith, or fay? We did not come here to hunt such creatures."

Lúthien stared at Huan with new wonder and disbelief. This was Huan of Valinor? The hound bred by Oromë the Vala? She had heard the title and the prophecy concerning Huan, she had sung of him, but never had she fathomed that this beast was Huan when he had found her.

"Who are you?" Celegorm asked with eyes narrowed. "What is your purpose so near the outskirts of Doriath?"

"I am Guardian of such woods as these," she replied in a false voice. "You risk breaking tryst with the Wardens of Doriath. Last I knew of, this land belonged to the peace-loving folk, the Sindar. What say you?"

Celegorm stared in astonishment at such insolence, and he said, "I am sorry, but Guardian is a mere title, no name. Who are you truly?"

"She could be a creature of Sauron's," said the cold voice.

An Elf, who must have been standing in the depths of the cave listening, stepped next to his brother, and he too frowned at Lúthien and drew his sword. Lúthien saw that he was no less tall and had the same eyes, though not as bright as the first Elf's and far more critical. He wore black with the seven-pointed star as well, but upon plate armor. He was more powerfully structured than his brother. His dark hair was drawn back in a tight ponytail. His nose was more pointed and his chin weak.

This one has the look of a smith, she thought. He likely made that armor himself. He is Curufin the Crafty.

"What is the purpose of a staff?" he asked.

"Three legs are better than two."

"What do you want, beggar?"

"I come seeking the Sons of Fëanor."

"Why do you seek them in such a place?"

"I walk where I will, for the soil you stand upon belongs to my people, the Sindar."

"It is your land, but outside the protection of the Girdle. You should return to Menegroth where others of your kind hide."

"I seek the Sons of Fëanor," she repeated in a commanding voice. "Tell me where I may find them."

"Whither do you come from, and who is your master? Why do you come before us as a beggar?" Curufin demanded, undaunted.

"Put away your sword, good fellow," Lúthien said sternly, beginning to dislike him already. "I want no quarrel with you."

Celegorm started, but stopped himself and asked, "And why do you seek the Sons of Fëanor?"

"I have come bearing tidings and to put their loyalty to their Oath and to their King to the test."

"The Sons of Fëanor never give aid to strangers, especially to one so sun-shy, I should say."

Curufin snickered. The comment caused Lúthien to flush.

"I am unused to sunlight," she explained. "For I come from the kingdom of Doriath and once dwelt in the Caves of Menegroth."

"You said 'once dwelt there'," Curufin said with suspicion. "Why is that not so anymore?"

"I left and chanced upon you. That banner makes it plain that the Sons of Fëanor are here and are too close to the borders of Doriath. I heard the clamor of your party from miles away and thought that some host had been unleashed upon these woods."

"Well, lady, that is near the mark, for a host of wolves wanders these woods. They are no ordinary wolves. They are Sauron's spawn. We came hunting them," Celegorm stoically made his case. "We were simply cleansing the land of them. If anything, King Thingol should reward us for ridding his eastern outskirts of such beasts. Since our liege lord departed Nargothrond, Sauron has released hundreds of them throughout the Elf-lands. It is dangerous for travelers these days. You must be very brave or mad to wander so far from the Caves alone."

"I have no sword either. I had hoped I would not even have to touch my dagger or have to wield my staff. I come before you in peace, and I am in need. Tell me where I may find the princes, for I too am in need of haste."

"Perhaps I can give them a message for you?"

"My lord, what I want with him or them is for their ears only," Lúthien said boldly.

Then Celegorm burst out laughing. "Come now, enough parley. I can certainly tell you where the royal highnesses are. They stand before you," he smiled warmly. "For I am Prince Celegorm, and this Elf beside me is my brother Curufin the Crafty, the third and fourth of the Sons of Fëanor. Now we would know who you are and what you know of our beloved King. We are all ears!"

Lúthien breathed a sigh of relief and smiled in triumph. Here were two of the seven Sons of Fëanor, and perhaps the most powerful of them all. She was proud that she had properly identified the brothers and remained a stranger to them. She decided that it would be safe to tell them who she was, since they were all foes of Morgoth, so she let slip her cloak.

"I forgive your doubt," she said.

The sudden revealing of her beauty under the sunlight was truly breathtaking. Her starry gray eyes fluttered in the risen sun, and the blue flowers in her hair gleamed and glistened. The wind lifted her raven dark locks. Her lips were slightly parted so that they caught a flash of teeth white as pearls. Her skin was ivory and without flaw. Her mantle was shimmering blue and inlaid with flowers and vines of cloth of gold. She wore no ornament save a golden chain that she had tucked into her bosom. Who could not gaze on that fair face without amaze? Curufin looked and stared for a long while, but Celegorm's eyes never strayed. The perfume of her flower-twined hair, her lissome limbs, her lovely face, all struck him speechless, and he stood as though he had been chained there, as Beren had often felt.

"I am Lúthien Tinúviel, the princess of the Sindar, daughter of King Thingol and Melian the Maia."

"Lúthien the Fair," Celegorm blurted. "The minstrels sing that you are the fairest that shall ever be. I will not gainsay them."

"I rather believe that my mother holds that title with better claim," Lúthien smiled radiantly, though she was already luminous. "The minstrels also sing that you are the most handsome of Eldalië males."

"Say not 'the most handsome', but rather 'the prettiest'," Curufin japed. "After all, Celegorm the Fair sounds more like a blushing maiden than a fierce warrior."

"I fear that my brother tells it true, but at least I have good looks."

Curufin bristled with indignation and Lúthien laughed.

"Huan, you have indeed brought me a strange doe," Celegorm patted the hound's head. "You shall be well rewarded. But the Princess spoke of the Oath and of King Finrod." His smile faded, "Why is our loyalty in need of a test?"

"I come from Doriath, wandering a path far from the Wood-Elves' sunny glades, where courage and hope grows faint. Finrod and his company are being held captive by Sauron."

"How do you know of these things?" Curufin demanded.

She drew out the Ring of Barahir as evidence. It bore Finrod's seal.

Once the brothers had confirmed that it was real, Celegorm said, "Fair lady, tell me all, for fortune has guided you well. You have found worthy friends."

She explained to them her quest, of Beren in Doriath, her father's ire, and the dreadful errand that he had decreed for him. Beren had told her he would go first to seek Finrod, his old ally and the brothers' own lord, and those that had departed Nargothrond were now prisoners in the Isle. Last of all, she told them of her escape from her prison, leaving out the detail of her cloak. She spoke lightly, for she recalled the sunlight and moonlight in Doriath before Beren had been found and sought out, before she had been betrayed. The brothers gave her their full attention and purposely did not speak when they heard Beren and Finrod mentioned.

Lúthien hoped that they would agree to help her. She greatly doubted that she alone could face Sauron and survive. Many Elvin-lords had perished in challenge of that sorcerer, and he was said to be as cruel as his master, Morgoth, and was next to greatest in power.

"Please," she said, breathless after speaking of Beren's ill fate. "The Man that I mentioned is a man that I love dearly. At first, I would have gone alone, but if you aid me, then Sauron indeed shall be overthrown. And Beren was on a quest that my father had given him to reclaim a Silmaril. Once we have rescued him, we plan to move on to Angband and complete that quest. I promise that if you aid us, we shall give you the other two Silmarils; one for each of you."

"And the third Silmaril shall fall into the hands of the Sindar?" Curufin's eyes flashed. "Never!"

"Calm yourself, brother," Celegorm's voice had an edge to it. "Princess Lúthien, I beg your pardon on both of our behalves. Allow us to grant you our hospitality while we mull over your offer and all that you have told us. You must be famished and weary after wandering so in this place."

"It has been many days since I have had proper food. Salted meats and stale bread is all that I have."

"Then please dine with us. We came here hunting for wolves, but we have caught other game. If you were to come to our house, we would serve you better, my lady.

"I accept your invitation gladly, my lord," Lúthien replied gratefully. "I thank you for your courtesy, but I must needs have an answer before nightfall. I cannot afford to remain idle."

"I understand your need for haste, your highness."

Celegorm stooped to receive her cloak for her, but she snatched it up and stowed it away before he could touch it. She feared it would evidence its power if he did so. The prince gave her a quizzical look, which she ignored. Then she entered the cave. All her fears and suspicions seemed to pass away with the wind. She was confident that she had the princes within her grasp. If they refused to aid her in the rescue of Finrod and Beren, they would be forever labeled as cravens and traitors. If they did not choose to join them afterwards in the Quest for the Silmaril, they would become Oathbreakers as well as Kinslayers.

She saw that there was a stream of water trickling down the cave walls, and the company of Elves had set up the lamps that the Noldor were famed for. They had been brought from Valinor, and no wind or rain could quench them. They shone with a clear blue light and lit up the hall of stone with light as bright as starlight. A party of hunters were there sitting around a merry fire, and they saw Lúthien and fell into dead silence. Celegorm introduced her, and the party of Elves stared at her as she sat down timidly amongst them. Then they welcomed her and offered her food and drink, which she took graciously. She was not so famished or dreadfully thirsty, for she traveled with lembas. She did not wish to refuse hospitality, however, and even lembas could grow stale upon the palate on long journeys. The Elves spoke with her and were very cheerful, but she sat apart from them so that the brothers could join her.

Lúthien had expected the two princes to sit with her, as is the custom of Elves, even amongst royalty, but they wandered far from those that sat there. They entered a side cave to debate with Huan trudging after them. The side cave was circular in shape and could be blocked from without with a large stone. The floor was damp, so Celegorm lay down cloaks for them to sit upon. They had one lamp between them, and it lit the cave with an eerie blue light.

"Celegorm, you know this is madness," Curufin rushed to begin.

"Quiet! I want to question Huan first."

The Wolf-Hound stood. Huan could understand all speech. He was no ordinary beast. All of the Eldar could understand much of animals' emotions and behavioral patterns, but Celegorm, as a boy in Valinor, learned to communicate with animals especially well. Oromë had given Huan to Celegorm as a pup and was trained to understand the speech of hounds. When he was finished questioning him, he sent Huan away and turned to his brother.

"The girl truly is alone," Celegorm told him. "Huan found her nearly cornered by wolves. Normally, he would have left her to her own devices, but he likes her scent. She spoke of being in need. Huan decided that I might be able to help her and so he brought her to me. He knew not her name."

"And so now you are actually considering her offer? We have been hunting for three days now, and though we have taken many a head of wolves, we did not win any news of Finrod until this lovely maid came to us. Now we know why Sauron's creatures are prowling here. She has given us invaluable information, but we cannot help her," Curufin was saying.

"I must consider what we must do. The girl has us in a tight spot," Celegorm answered. "If we refuse, we disgrace ourselves. She will send word to her father of our location, or worse, she will send word to Orodreth who rules as steward in Finrod's absence. He will seize such a chance to drive us forever from Nargothrond and strip our rights to the throne, if ever we had any."

"But if we agree, we will surely fail! If winning the Silmarils back were as easy as the Princess says, we would not be Kinslayers. We will all be given to the Balrogs and slain."

"Do the Sons of Fëanor have the strength to storm the reformed Minis Tirith? I think not. We would only arouse Morgoth into wrath! We cannot assail Morgoth or even Sauron until all of the Eldar are united into one massive force and under our command and only then," Celegorm agreed. "And if we attempt anything before that, we will fail."

"Even if we had the desire to aid them, those she wishes to save are beyond hope of rescue. Finrod is likely dead by now," Curufin said. "And if not, it is only a matter of time. Let him rot. He is not our king anymore. He was once great and powerful, but now that he has become so fond of Men, he has grown soft. The human Beren can die as well. He is nothing."

"We might have broken allegiance to Finrod, but he is one of our kin. It is also true that he was more timid than wise, but I shall mourn for him. We cannot aid Finrod any longer. His fate is not ours to prevent nor is Beren's. But the mortal is not nothing to the Princess."

Curufin had no reply.

"There is another matter that you have chosen to over-look, brother, that may prove to be the downfall of the Eldalië," Celegorm reminded his younger brother.

"What might that be?"

"The Princess Lúthien Tinúviel. Do you suppose if we refuse her, she will continue on alone?"

"She told us herself that King Thingol locked her away in an attempt to stop her. She defied her own father. Why would she hesitate to defy us as well?"

"At least that means she cannot report us to Thingol without risking being shoved into her prison again. She is fierce, and to find one like her among the Sindar is rare. Seems to me quite a pitiable thing that their maids are more intrepid than their males. She would accept our aid gratefully, but she will continue on with it or without it."

"I am afraid our rejection would anger her and she would send word to Orodreth. We cannot simply allow her to walk away."

"Perhaps we can talk some sanity into her?"

"She will take her leave of us once we try to dissuade her."

Celegorm let out a sharp breath, "She would be a priceless prisoner; fairest maiden and only heir of the Sindar. Through her, Morgoth could learn how to assault the Hidden Kingdom of Doriath. Through her, he might dominate the whole of Beleriand. We cannot let that be! We must not let that be."

"You think you could stop her?"

"I care not for the Sindar," Celegorm admitted. "I have often thought that their destruction would be an improvement to this world. They have done nothing to aid the Noldor in this war, hiding away in their caverns like moles. They have accused us of trying to usurp their lands, yet in all these lands we found little else but Orcs and Wargs. They had burned and pilfered all the goods. But I would be grieved if such a fair maid was taken prisoner and tormented. Too many of the Eldar have suffered the fate of thralldom, and the Princess is too beautiful, too beloved of the Eldar to lose…"

Curufin studied his brother closely. Celegorm and Curufin understood one another remarkably well. They were brothers, and they were inseparable. When they were boys, they could tell what the other was thinking as though they were twins like their younger brothers Amrod and Amras. But Curufin could not understand why his brother was suddenly full of compassion for this young Elvin-maid, especially when she was Beren's lover and would have the Silmarils laid amongst the vaults of Menegroth. Celegorm had no interest in the Sindar either; he had just proven so with his speech, for he thought them cowards when it came to open war with Morgoth. This was, of course, not true. The Sindar dealt with the Enemy in their own ways, playing a different part in the unceasing war. Curufin was concerned, and he reached into his thought.

Celegorm strayed his glance towards the light of the lamp and away from his brother deliberately. Curufin knitted his eyebrows, a little annoyed and angry that his brother was drawing away from him. But then, a sudden light came over him, and he knew now what Celegorm was truly feeling. Then he burst out laughing.

"Have you fallen for the girl?" he snorted.

Celegorm gave him a piercing glance and still guarded his thoughts.

"Hail and well met at last!" Curufin slapped him on the back. "Ah, this is truly exciting, but you have the most remarkable timing! After all these years, you choose to fall in love now. Your plum is plucked, I fear. The girl's heart belongs to that vile mortal Beren, and her father has likely filled her pretty little head with tales of how detestable the Sons of Fëanor are. This will only complicate matters that have never been simple."

Celegorm frowned and said crossly, "Please do not mock me. I could not foresee this, and I cannot change it. Such a thing can happen after several years or every several thousand years!"

"I would never mock you. So, you love her? Tell me, Celegorm, how many years have you walked alone?"

"I suppose it has been too long," Celegorm said and then spoke very passionately. "That is why I cannot risk losing her! But she has been tied to that mortal coil somehow, and she seeks to follow him into the pits of the Isle! Lúthien is the fairest of all the maidens I have ever laid eyes on, and she has a fire within her such as I have only seen once before, and I thought that fire had died along with the spirit."

"A fire?"

"Yes. That fire is like our cousin's Aredhel Ar-Fenial."

Aredhel Ar-Fenial was the sister of King Turgon of Gondolin, the last of the Three Hidden Kingdoms. Aredhel was the youngest of her siblings and took after her uncle Fëanor rather than her own father. She had dark hair, not golden, and she was in many ways fiercer than her two brothers. In Valinor, she had been Celegorm's favorite playmate. She did everything the boys did and often bested them in riding, swimming, racing, and stone throwing. She became a huntress and swore she would never wed. Despite her misgivings, she admitted to Celegorm that he was the only boy she thought handsome and her equal. Celegorm held her in high regard and even preferred her company to Curufin's. If the two were not cousins, they may have wed and been happy. But the Eldar did not wed so close of kin. However that might be, Fëanor hated his half brothers and all their children. He would not approve of such a marriage. In the Darkening of Valinor and after the Kinslaying, Fëanor's sons and the children of Indis became estranged forever. Aredhel was lost seeking Himlad to visit Celegorm and was ensnared by Eol the Dark Elf. She bore a son named Meaglin. When her son was old enough, they fled from Eol's tyranny to Gondolin. Eol pursued them both and attempted to throw a poisoned spear at his son to claim him forever. But Aredhel sprang before it, saving her son but condemning her own life. Eol was executed, and Meaglin was now a mighty prince. Celegorm had wept when he heard the news of Aredhel's murder.

"Lúthien could be the daughter Aredhel never had," Celegorm said softly to himself. "She is just as bold, just as sharp-witted. She is quick and graceful. She might be just as good a huntress as Aredhel was. And she is even more beautiful . . ."

Curufin heard his words and answered, "Yes. But our cousin was also renowned for her stubbornness and her great desire for adventure, no matter how perilous. It only landed her into trouble and misery. If Lúthien possesses even one of those virtues, I doubt you could persuade her against continuing her quest! No force in heaven or hell ever could!"

"Of course, I know that the circumstances are all very complex," Celegorm said. "I am afraid that we have entangled ourselves into too many great matters. King Finrod for one, the threat to our oath, and now Lúthien and the prickly King of the Sindar! But it may be fortunate that Lúthien has come to us in her need. And if my feeling is aright, it was meant to be."

"You have the most horrible timing, Celegorm!"

"Lúthien does not fathom how much we know. She trusts us for the moment. But what shall we do about her? It would be disastrous to our race if she were taken by the Enemy."

"I propose that we sell her back to her father. She will be safe in Doriath, and the Gray-mantle would be grateful. Perhaps if you put your charms to good use, Thingol will reward you the hand of his daughter."

This notion was so fantastical that Celegorm laughed outright so that the cavern echoed with his voice.

"Thingol grant me the hand of his only daughter and heir? I would like to entertain that thought," he said, grinning. "But I am afraid that is all that it is. The Gray-mantle has heard about our history. It would take a great deal of convincing for him to unlearn what he has learned of us. One good deed cannot undo all the others we have done. Thingol would only find harsher means of safeguarding his daughter and enforcing his borders. He would thank me for returning his daughter safely, but he would not love me for it. He might be willing to overlook our trespass, nothing more. The Sindar would say I was paying them with their own coin. Thingol's scouts would likely have discovered Lúthien eventually without our intervention. No. I will not send her back to her father. There would be no reward, and she would see that as betrayal. She does not desire to return to Doriath after the injury Thingol caused her."

"And you shall soon be licking at the wounds that she shall give you!"

"I will not send her back to her father!"

"It would be more fortunate to us if we did. We would not become 'entangled' as you put it."

"Thingol will likely make another match for the girl. Rumor has it that he was hoping to present her to Finrod."

"Finrod is dead and Lúthien is not our responsibility. But I am not the elder in this matter, and it is not I that love her. She is not my problem! You are my elder, you are the one that has fallen for her, it was your hound that discovered her, and you are the one that she came for! Therefore, she is your burden not mine."

"And I shall endure her. She may be more tolerable than you, my dearest brother," Celegorm said.

Curufin only laughed and said, "But is she worth troubling over, Celegorm?"

"Did you really look at her, Curufin?"

"Of course I did. I was as spellbound as you were the first moment she revealed herself. Very well," Curufin sighed. "I cannot dissuade you."

"You must aid me now to save Lúthien. Will you help me for the sake of brotherhood?"

Curufin did not answer at once, but at last he said, "I will."

They shook hands.

"Celegorm, with Finrod dead, you could become King," Curufin said. "Orodreth is weak. Meadhros is a broken mass, Maglor lives for his harp. You are the practical choice."

"We must convince the people of that first."

"How?"

Celegorm sat, weighing options. He wondered how long Lúthien had been waiting. Then suddenly he had it. It was all so clear.

"The Princess is the key," he said quietly. "She is the answer to everything."

"Go on," Curufin urged.

"Lúthien is heiress of the Sindar. This we know," Celegorm began.

The Eldar did not choose their heirs discriminately. The first-born was not necessarily the successor. Neither was it always the boy that overpowered the girl. An example of such a case was that of Fëanor. When he was murdered, the crown did not pass to any of his sons, as would be expected. Instead, it passed to his half brother and his children. Thingol was not required to name Lúthien his heir. In a normal monarchy, Thingol's all-male nephew Celeborn would have inherited the throne before Lúthien.

The King chose his heir, but there was never a case in which anyone outside of the royal family was crowned. The people chose the first kings, and the genes of that great leader naturally passed on to their descendants, some more than others. That is why the Royal Families prized their children so much and strived to have many, which was usually no more than two or three. Fëanor's seven sons were quite exceptional. Elves were not expected to die suddenly, but many of the Elder Kings died horrible deaths in battle, and to ensure the uncertain future, the King and Queen of a large nation studied their children judiciously and made the pivotal decision as to which child could bear the responsibility of a throne and inspire their people with compassion and wisdom. A hard choice indeed, for Fëanor's father made the unfortunate decision to pass his crown on to his eldest because he was so dear to his heart rather than pass the throne on to one of his other sons. Much trouble might have been saved if this were so.

"We cannot refuse Lúthien, nor can we accept her offer," Celegorm said. "We cannot send her away or simply let her go. We must take her with us."

"How?"

"We can persuade her to come with us to Nargothrond, and there we must keep her. That way, she will be safe and become our hostage. I will urge Thingol to grant me permission to wed her. It would be a great source of power if I were to wed Thingol Gray-mantle's daughter. We need him as an ally, and the union between Lúthien and I may make him submit to our ways. The people love her and will hail me as Lúthien's savior. They will want her as their Queen, and I shall be crowned her consort. We shall become King and Queen of the Noldor, and through Lúthien, all of the Elf-Kingdoms will be united in our name."

Curufin was impressed but doubtful, "How will you convince Thingol?"

"I shall list all of the fine qualities I possess. I will promise to always love and protect his precious, and I can promise him three Silmarils where Beren only promised one. I shall present them to him once I have also rid him of Morgoth forever, but I shall never give them to him."

"What if he still refuses?"

"I will persuade him."

"What of the people? How will you convince them you mean the girl no harm?"

"I will convince them I imprison Lúthien for her own sake. Her quest is madness and her father is a tyrant. I am simply a fool in love trying to protect the fragile maiden. The common people love such selflessness."

"And how will we keep the Princess 'safe'? She will not become a hostage or a willing bride happily. I am afraid that we must be strong with her and not dawdle with her. We may indeed have to use force on the princess. Would you set her in bonds if you had to?"

"I hope that I shall not have the responsibility to do that. But if that is what must be done, then I shall be willing to do so. I would be very reluctant, but in the end, I would probably have no other choice. I tell you now, Curufin," he leaned towards his brother and spoke sternly, "that it shall be so. There shall be no bondage until there is no other option!"

Celegorm did not want to imagine putting Lúthien in bonds.

"Very well. How do you intend to keep her without binding her?"

"She will not be aware she is a hostage at first. We shall convince her to come with us to Nargothrond. We can tell her we wish to rest before such a perilous journey and must wait to gather all of our strength. Our brothers will wish to recapture the Silmarils as well. They swore the Oath. We shall treat her as an honored guest. The people will see that she came willingly and will support our case more. We shall delay the quest, and delay the quest, and delay the quest. We shall delay it as long as we possibly can. By the time she realizes that we never intend to leave, hopefully we shall have Thingol's reply or a confirmation that Finrod and Beren are dead. Then I shall crown Lúthien Queen."

"We must take her weapons as soon as we arrive with a promise to return them. Then we should melt down the dagger and snap her staff in half."

Celegorm laughed again, "The dagger we shall take, but not the staff. The staff is no proper weapon, my crafty brother. Lúthien is the daughter of Melian in truth. The staff is nothing more than a wooden stick. She has another weapon."

"What is that? Her bright eyes?"

"Huan told me something very interesting when he gave me his account. She feared he was a savage beast, but she did not point her staff at him and make a gesture or speak a word. She did not even try to strike him with it. Instead, she threw her shadowy cloak over his eyes and was amazed when it had no effect upon him. Her cloak is her weapon."

"How clever. A perfect weapon for a female," Curufin snorted. "I should have noticed when she would not allow you to touch the cloak, yet she did not stint at the thought of her staff being so handled. We must take it from her."

"Huan is not certain what the cloak does."

"She wears it like casual clothing. It is not likely to be poisoned."

"Nevertheless, we must be careful."

Once Lúthien had finished eating, she stroked the great Wolf-Hound absentmindedly, waiting for the princes to come to a decision. At last, the brothers returned from the side cave and not a moment too soon. The sun was hanging low in the sky, and sun shy animals were beginning to stir. There would be less wolves prowling about, but traveling by night still had its dangers. Lúthien had never feared the darkness before, but already her mind was changing somewhat. The world was far different outside of the Girdle when the sun set.

One of the princes beckoned to Lúthien. She sat down beside Celegorm, followed by Huan, who was eager to know their answer. Neither brother said a word. They took some food and wine for themselves, and Lúthien welcomed a second helping. She wolfed it down, and she knew that she must look ridiculous. She saw that the brothers were watching her and she set her plate and bottle aside.

"Pardon me," she said, a little embarrassed. "I am afraid I have not eaten for a long while and I am not accustomed to long fasts."

"We know what it is like to be hungry, Lúthien," Curufin answered.

"But now is not the time for food. My brother and I have reached our decision," Celegorm announced, pushing away his own plate.

Lúthien held her breath and hoped against hope. There was a dead silence in which she hardly breathed. She prepared herself for another rejection or for some salvation.

"We have reached our decision, and we have agreed to aid you. Not only is your plea desperate and sincere, but it is also a worthy one. After all, my brother and I do not hate Sauron any less than his own master, of whom I shall not speak. For a fair maiden such as you, we shall also aid you if ever you or your people need us in the future. And may there be friendship between the Noldor and the Sindar again."

Lúthien smiled and breathed again. Her happiness at this was so great that it was all she could do not to jump from the floor and whoop and holler. The other hunters began speaking to one and then another, although they themselves did not understand the Great Ones' matters. Such an alliance seemed unlikely to them.

Celegorm smiled at Lúthien's obvious joy. Then he kissed her hand, making her blush, and knowing she had blushed made her color even more. She knew it was quite childish, but his tenderness made her feel quite awkward. When she looked into his eyes, she found herself wondering many things.

He has seen things that I have never dreamed of, she thought. And he is as old as I am, not a pup as Beren is. The years have not touched him, but have only made him more beautiful. And he has power and charm that I will never have. I merely make hearts flutter, he leads men into battle and victory. If anyone possesses the power to aid me in my quest, it must be him.

"Thank you," she said. "I know that I have nothing to give you but my gratitude, but I shall make sure that you are well rewarded for your help in these matters. You have only to name it, lord, and you shall have it. That is my solemn vow. I never hoped to find such powerful and honorable friends in the Wilderness."

Honorable! That is not a word I have heard used to describe me or my brothers, Celegorm thought.

He smiled and answered, "My brother and I are more than happy to aid you, Princess, but before we can set out on the Quest, we shall have to break off the hunt and return to Nargothrond to prepare for the journey. You can see that we have come hunting wolves and are no host prepared for battle. I would like you to see our city. I am sure you will grow to love it. I must summon my brothers so that they know we have a chance to regain our father's stolen treasure. The Seven shall be joined as One, a thing that has not happened for centuries."

At this request, Huan glanced at his Master with puzzlement and suspicion. Huan knew of Celegorm's hate for mortals and his renouncement of King Finrod. Why should he aid in their rescue now? And why were they breaking off the hunt? He also caught the look in his master's eyes and saw that they burned with some hot desire he did not understand. He concealed his suspicions for the moment.

"How long must we stay in Nargothrond?" Lúthien asked anxiously. "I would dearly love to see it. Since I was a child in Menegroth, I have heard tales of the Caves of Nargothrond and wished that I could see them, but I cannot delay there long. I am afraid that we have tarried overlong here."

"That shall depend most likely upon how much time it takes us to prepare a small host of Elves to come on our journey. We shall wait in Nargothrond for my brothers."

"A host of Elves? Nay, lord. I had planned to go before Sauron in a secret fashion. Gathering hosts and banners will attract the Enemy's notice, and the perils afterwards shall be too great for those good fellows that serve you. As for your brothers, they all live in remote corners of Beleriand, and it shall take a few weeks for them to receive their summons and make their journey to Nargothrond. That will be like centuries to me and ages to Beren and Finrod! I would like to set out on the Quest as soon as we can."

Celegorm laughed and answered, "If we are to be of any use to you, Princess, we must gather our strength. What other plan did you have in mind to rescue the captives?"

"Not with swords. Sauron will kill them both!"

"I am sure that my brothers shall find swifter ways to arrive. The Sons of Fëanor live by their oath."

"Time is not something Sauron will give us freely."

"When we arrive in Nargothrond, all shall be decided," Celegorm promised.

Lúthien's eyes were sad, but the sadness was tempered by the revelations of the last hour, and he could see that she would endure. "I will go to Nargothrond," she said.

"I suppose I have little choice."

"Good. It is settled then."

"Not quite," Lúthien said darkly. "The matter is only being set aside. I do not want war. No matter how many swords the Eldar gather, it will not be enough. Sauron is not as scrupulous as his Master. He does not know the value of his prisoners. Why else would he send forth so many wolves if not to ferret out the answer? The Enemy kills their captives. That was how they goaded the Noldor into war."

"I was there," Celegorm said solemnly. "You were not. Neither was your father King Thingol, whom boasts of the most numerous people of the Eldar."

"Would our archers and mariners have saved that poor boy they killed?" Lúthien retorted. "I may not have been there, but the Sindar are not deaf or blind. We have had to defend our realm but we have never marched on Angband."

"That has been noted."

"Come now!" Curufin interrupted. "We can discuss this further when we arrive in Nargothrond."

"And when we arrive there, I would like to make only one small request, your highnesses, please."

"If you promise to come with us to Nargothrond, we shall in no doubt aid you in any way we can," Celegorm bowed. "What is your request?"

"That I be given messengers to send to my family in Menegroth."

There was a silence. Celegorm nodded with understanding. "I shall give you my swiftest messengers, my lady."

"I thank you again, lord."

" No, lady, thank you for coming to us. The Silmarils shall soon be returned to our kindred, and our father avenged."

Celegorm lifted a cup to her lips.

"Drink, Lady, and our alliance shall be established."

Lúthien drank from the cup. The wine was oversweet and had a bitter aftertaste, but it was her lot. Then Celegorm drank from it ceremoniously,

"With this, I, Celegorm the Fair and my brother Curufin the Crafty do swear to be your guides and guardians. We shall protect you, fair Lúthien, from any Enemy. May Valinor bear witness to our oath and make us thrice cursed if we are false."

Curufin stood up. "Shall I have the horses made ready?"

"Yes. And tell the party the news. They are to continue the hunt with Huan until the wood is cleared of wolves. Then they may return home."

Huan became even more apprehensive. He whimpered, and Celegorm understood what the hound was meaning to say.

"No, Huan. You cannot come with us. They will have need of you here. There are still many wolves in these woods. We cannot completely dash the hunt, but Princess Lúthien has need of haste, as she has stated."

Huan growled.

"You did find Lúthien first. I understand that you would see her through her journey. But you are a Wolfhound, not a watch dog."

Huan's hair stood on end and he growled.

"You must pardon me, but you must cease to be troubled by such political affairs."

Lúthien watched, fascinated, as Celegorm spoke to the hound, and how Huan seemed to react to his words with evident intellect.

"Does he truly speak to you?" Lúthien asked.

"Only when he wants to be a nuisance to me," Celegorm answered, smiling with jovial humor.

Huan made a noise in his throat and sat by Lúthien's side instead of his master's. Celegorm shook his head.

"He is a prideful creature and he often takes my words to heart when he should not."

"He is quite a marvelous creature, and he saved me from Sauron's wolves. How did you come by him, anyway? If he can speak to you in such a way, he must be a very special animal indeed!"

"He was given to me by Oromë the Vala to raise and train. I have done so, and now I am proud to name him the greatest hunter and warrior among all the beasts of Middle-Earth."

Lúthien cast Huan a respectful glance. He threw out his chest with pride. Then she laughed.

"It seems that he favors your company over mine, Lúthien," Celegorm chuckled. That is more extraordinary than you think, Princess. You truly are an enchantress. Huan usually does not warm up to people so quickly. I am his master, so he is very faithful to me. That is somewhat of an obligation. But if anyone besides myself dares to approach him, they do so at their own risk. He growls and bars his teeth to warn them, and if they are too bold, he could easily tear their throat out. He can be very dangerous. It proves that you have a knack with animals. Your beauty could enchant anyone or anything."

Lúthien was used to such flattery, but still, she could not suppress a smile, and it was not her nature to hide her joy, but rather to swallow her bitterness.

"Your lands are in Himlad, and that is many leagues from here."

"My brother and I have dwelt in Nargothrond for many years. Himlad is a desolate land now. Unlike you Sindarin Elves, my people must defend themselves against evils with arms. We cannot afford such elaborate subtleties like the Girdle of Melian or rely on our underground caverns to conceal us forever. And now he sends wolves into Nargothrond and Doriath. Sauron seems to believe that the Noldor would go to open war with him. We have enough on our hands with his master's war, and we have already faced much loss in the Battle of Bragollach. A war with Sauron would not be popular after there has been so much bloodshed previously."

"Well, I could tell you my theory. Sauron must not know the worth of the prisoners he keeps. He has become suspicious. We shall confirm his worst suspicions," Lúthien said grimly.

Once again, Celegorm was pleasantly surprised. Lúthien spoke of a great ambition, something he admired in a maiden or any Elf. But, of course, she had more endowments beneath the soft, luminescent skin, and a sharp wit that made her worthy of her title: Heiress to the throne of the Sindar.

"Everything is ready, Celegorm," Curufin called from outside.

"Then we shall be on our way."

Lúthien arose. Huan whimpered and followed after her. Celegorm let out a command, and he sat obediently. Lúthien patted him and kissed the top of his head in farewell.

"Thank you, Huan," she whispered. "You have provided me with a powerful ally, and you saved me. I hope to see you again."

Huan watched Lúthien go, suspicion continuing to gnaw at his senses. Curufin led Celegorm and Lúthien towards the horses. Celegorm's was a black warhorse; Curufin's a chestnut bay. They were unharnessed while the rest of the horses wore bridles and bits. Only the Noldoli that had never seen Valinor rode their horses in Man-fashion, as it was called. The Sindar and the Laquendi trained their mounts to respond to voice and touch. The Teleri rode only their ships.

"This is my horse Thalion. He shall bear you and I. I am sure he will not grudge it of me later. You must be light as a feather. Do you mind riding with me on my steed? I see that you have no horse, and we do not have any more to spare."

"No. I do not mind at all."

Celegorm held out his hand for her to take. She took it, and he pulled her up in front of him on is horse.

"Are you prepared?"

"I was ready eons ago, but you and your brother were having small talk while I waited."

"Well, you must pardon me if I left you impatient, Princess, but my brother and I were discussing other matters. Matters that would only bore you and take far too much precious time to explain, little one," he answered.

She snickered and muttered, "Little one…"

Celegorm laughed and gave his horse a kick. She clutched his shoulders as the horses began at full gallop. Curufin's shout roused the Wolf-Hound. He sat before the mouth of the cave and let out a mournful howl. They heard his voice and a chill went down her spine.

"Do not fear wolves, your highness," Celegorm said. "They know Huan's voice and tremble."

"It is not wolves, I fear, my lord. I fear time."

And so the webs of deceit were sown, and by no sign did the brothers hint to Lúthien that they had known all along of the Quest, nor that it was a matter that touched them near.


	12. Chapter 12 Nargothrond

The trek to the Hidden Kingdom of Nargothrond began pleasantly enough, Lúthien supposed. The journey would not be a long one. For that, at least, she was glad. The princes made good speed, but no amount of speed would satisfy her. She insisted that they ride through the night, but the brothers would not allow it. There was no light to guide them, for a storm came suddenly from the North, masking the moon and stars. It poured and thundered. They had little sleep and could not start a fire.

Lúthien sat wrapped in her cloak, eyes grim and restless. Sleep had ceased to comfort her anymore. Even as she sat in silence, she saw Beren's face, worn and twisted with pain and dread. The brothers sang in defiance of the storm and urged Lúthien to join them, but she was in a dark mood.

"I vowed not to sing until I have found Beren again," she told them.

"Beren must indeed be special to have won such pure devotion from such a maiden," Curufin said, but he gazed at Celegorm as he said it, and his tone was mocking.

"No more than you loved your wife once, I suppose," there was a trace of sarcasm in her voice.

Curufin's countenance changed. His smug smile became a scowl, his face turned gray. He said no more.

"Princess, speak with me over here, will you?" Celegorm whispered.

"Very well."

She rose and followed him several spaces away.

"That was ill of you," Celegorm said. "Even I dare not mention my brother's wife in his presence."

"Then perhaps he should have the courtesy not to speak like that! I was not deaf to the way he said those words and I noted that he would not look me in the eye."

"My brother loved his wife. What do you know of it?" Celegorm said defensively.

"The minstrels sing of Alain Princess of the Teleri. She lost her father and brother to her own husband's sword. They were mariners that refused to give up their ships. Because she mourned for them rather than Curufin's honor, he stole her little son and sailed away with him. She cast herself into the sea. He murdered her as well as her kinsmen."

"That is not how it was!" Celegorm said with a flash of wrath. "It all comes down to the Kinslaying! The Sons of Fëanor shall be forever cursed and thwarted because of it!"

"Tell me then what happened."

"We begged the Teleri for passage to this world so that we could pursue Morgoth. They refused to be associated with 'heretics'. We were disobeying the commands of the Valar and were no longer welcome at the havens. In that moment they forgot that we were all brothers by marriage. Many of our servants had also taken Teleri spouses. Curufin had taken Alain to wife. Their son Celebrimbor was a little boy then. We offered to buy the ships if the Teleri would not give them to us in faith. They would not balk. We had no choice."

"So you slaughtered them."

"There was confusion," Celegorm corrected. "Someone drew a sword and the Kinslaying began. During the bloody struggle, Curufin's father and brother in law were slain. No one could say who it was that cut them down. Everything happened quickly. Alain thought that Curufin had been slain too, so she took her own life. Curufin had no choice but to take Celebrimbor with him when we fled. There was no time to bury his wife or the rest of his family. My brother has been punished enough. You have no right to judge him or the rest of my brothers! Do you think the Sons of Fëanor are all monsters? Is that what your father told you?"

"My father and mother know that you are powerful but slaves to your Oath," Lúthien said carefully. "Do you deny it?"

"No," Celegorm sighed. "But we are all slaves to a single purpose. Do not forget that you too are after a Silmaril and for what? A mortal's love."

Now Lúthien felt ashamed and wondered if she had been completely wrong about the brothers. After all, her father had also been wrong about Men.

"Forgive me," she said. "You are right. I cannot judge you or Curufin."

"You are not the first to have done so. Come. We should be on our way soon."

After that, Lúthien enjoyed the brothers' company. They talked much, exchanging news of their own lands and also having friendly conversation. The weather was uncommonly beautiful and warm, though autumn was creeping upon the lands with a vengeance that none could escape, save only Doriath. Winter's frost never touched the golden leaves of Neldoreth or Nivrim. Outside of her father's kingdom, the climate was dramatically altered. The leaves were already changing color here. The evil ice powder would cling to their boughs and purloin all the precious moisture that leaves required soon, too soon for Lúthien's comfort.

She did not wish to travel in the bitter winter. It would only make the Quest a more arduous and perilous journey for all, and even drearier, if that was possible. The aim of their Quest was a stone's throw from madness, and their chances of success, she knew, was nothing. That simple knowledge was enough to cast gloom upon her as she thought of it even now, in the afternoon sunshine. She knew these trees about her were foreshadowing her likely doom. The trees would shed their lovely leaves, perhaps as soon as she was gone, and the long, dewy grass that sparkled like emeralds in the bright daylight and shone like silver in the moonlight would lose their green pallor and blanch to a sickly yellow, and then horrid russet. She wondered if she might not see Beren lying in the snow, or lying upon some scorched desert that the sun had cursed, dead or dying . . . She could not weep!

Not now! Not here! Wait, sorrowing heart, until I am alone again. Have you not shed tears enough in your prison or upon the road? The princes are with you, and if they see tears, they will stop to comfort you. That would not only be an embarrassment, but a waste of time. They already think me delicate as an egg shell and unable to partake in the Quest because I am a maiden and inexperienced. I must not remove all doubt of this by weeping like a little babe!

The despair and horror that crept upon her heart as the seasons did quickly passed when Celegorm gripped her arm gently and smiled. He had noticed her hanging her head and averting her eyes. He felt nothing but concern and love when he thought of her wondering about what was to come, especially when he had already made his plans. He did not intend to cause her any pain, emotional or physical. He feared any further distress might break her heart.

"Princess, what is it?" he asked.

"Oh, do not care for such a thing, your highness. It is nothing at all," she tried to say in a dismissive way.

She did not look at him, afraid she would drown in his blue eyes, full of kindness she did not deserve because she had so mistrusted him in the beginning. But one thing she could not do was lie to a person with sincere integrity, and the melancholy texture of her voice could not be prohibited nor the aura of sadness hanging over her head like discernible storm clouds.

"Do not fret, my lady," he smiled reassuringly. "Allow my brother and I to think of the Quest ahead. We are more than competent enough to do so."

"Of course! I never said otherwise, my lord, and neither would I think such a thing, but I cannot forget even for a moment of Beren's predicament!"

"I know you would not," Celegorm restrained himself after hearing that mortal's name that was such an unanticipated thorn in his side. "You have done enough by escaping your brooding father and coming upon us. Allow me to assuage your worries, or else, what kind of a benefactor would I be?"

The sun beamed down upon the three travelers, but the wind blew gently from the east to ease its burning upon their pale skin, for they each dwelt in underground passages, away much of the time from sunlight. It was not unpleasant, however, and Lúthien was beginning to think that her skin was a little too white. She tilted her head back to feel the breeze flow gently through her hair. Lifting her eyes to the heavens, she gazed in wonder at the stars, and later at the moon as it rose in the sky. And then the weather took a turn for the worse. A cold, harsh wind swept through the forest. She shuddered as the biting air seemed to go right to her very bones. Pulling her cloak tightly around her, she turned to Celegorm.

"It must be hard having to frequently move from place to place and so far from home," Lúthien said.

"A high prince must do so," Celegorm answered. "Visiting allies, attending councils, inexorable wars. They are all duties that I must attend to. Home is an idle place and should be kept so."

"We have spoken about Nargothrond and Menegroth. I would like to know more about your homeland, my lord."

"Himlad?" Celegorm was surprised. "It was once woodland, an ideal place. I am a hunter, after all, and there was always game in the forest. There are two rivers flowing through it, and the climate is mild so I could hunt any day that I chose. During the hunting season, you would find me there with Huan at my side rather than counting coins in my hall, my spear Melcher in my hand, and the wind would blow through Thalion's hair, my steed. When I was there in Himlad and dashing through the beeches, I felt as though I was Oromë himself."

"It sounds pleasant, but why are you so often away from home?"

"Well," Celegorm answered, "I dwelt there when I was younger, before the outbreak of Angband. Otherwise, I am about the lands with my brothers or fighting wars. I am more often in Nargothrond than in Himlad, and Himlad was given to Curufin and me when we divided the land amongst the kings and princes of Beleriand. But now Himlad is no longer mine. It was burnt by the Enemy during the Battle of Sudden Flame."

"How long did you dwell there?"

"Almost five hundred years, but my brother and I have been content in Nargothrond."

"Which do you prefer, Himlad or Nargothrond?"

"Home is where the heart is, and my heart dwells in Nargothrond," Celegorm answered, "and I would do anything to assure her safety. Himlad is no longer mine so I cannot think of it as home any longer."

"Tell me, my lord, if you will, of the days when you dwelt in Valinor."

"I am afraid I cannot," Celegorm answered, and a shadow of pain fell across his face.

"Very well then. My father himself said that it was perilous to tell others of the beauty and serenity of Valinor. One would pine for it. Tell me more of Nargothrond."

Celegorm told Lúthien all that he knew about Nargothrond and asked about Menegroth, for he had heard that it was the fairest of all Elvin dwellings, rivaling Gondolin, and was the mother of Nargothrond. She continued to ride upon his steed and felt that great friendship was coming between them, but there were times when the brothers would speak together alone in whispers while they rested, and a shadow would pass over Lúthien's heart then, although she did not know what it meant.

She continued to brush the feeling aside, convincing herself that the brothers were speaking of the road in the impending future. She did not question them, for she felt that she would not have to worry about the future because Celegorm had promised to assuage those worries. Meddling in such conversation would be uncouth and would only give them the impression that she did not trust them and doubted their honor. They had agreed to aid her, not to be commanded by her, and they could very well change their minds about aiding her in the first place.

Then Celegorm made an attempt to dissuade Lúthien from continuing her quest so as to avoid using force on her, for the brothers were nearing Nargothrond, and Curufin had warned him that he was not afraid to carry out their plan. So Celegorm ordered a halt, and he led Lúthien away from Curufin and began a very general conversation. He told her again of the beauty of Nargothrond and gradually steered the dialogue to the matter of the Quest.

"You could stay behind in Nargothrond, Lúthien, and my brothers and I shall rescue Beren and Finrod on your behalf. Then you may be safe and explore the Hidden Kingdom as you will."

"No," Lúthien answered, startled.

She had thought that Celegorm would not be like Daeron or her father. Unlike the others, he had agreed to help her. But now he was trying to dissuade her just like the others! She thought she would not have to play such games with him.

"You do not understand," she said. "I had disturbing dreams while I was in Doriath, and my Mother once told me that only one person upon Middle-Earth can save Beren, and I believe that one person is me. I must aid Beren, and I know that I, of course, cannot go alone. That is why I asked for your aid, and I am glad that you agreed to give it. I also want to be the one that Beren looks upon again once he is free. I know he yearns for me. Would Beren come to you out of his darkness?"

"No. You do not understand," Celegorm answered, almost begging Lúthien to reconsider. "You do not understand and cannot imagine what perils lay ahead. Do you wish to join Beren in his misery?"

"He cannot suffer alone!"

"I will warn you once, because I know that you know this. You are in more danger than any one of us ever could be in!"

"You were right!" Lúthien was angry as ever. "I do know this, so do not remind me! Never come to me again asking me to stay behind like a craven and abandon Beren! And do not even think of sending me to my Father!"

"That is the last thing that I would do."

"Good, because I flew from Doriath, and I will not have you tear off my wings and cage me again! Nor will I stay in Nargothrond. I am going after Beren!"

An awkward silence passed, and then Lúthien took a step forward and kissed Celegorm lightly upon the brow.

"Forgive me," she said. "You have been nothing but kind to me since I came before you in beggar's disguise. But like all the others, you are determined to save me from a path already set for me. This is my quest. I shall go, and you will aid me, if you so choose."

"I would follow you into Hell," Celegorm said with real tenderness.

"That is all I ask," Lúthien said and laughed. "It is no light matter. I am glad I have you as an ally."

Lúthien turned away from him, and Celegorm did not try to convince Lúthien again. Instead, he said, "Tell me again about the fashioning of your arms in Doriath."

Once Celegorm grew tired of the talk, he returned with Lúthien to Curufin who was guarding the horses. He had an expectant look on his face, and he drew close to his brother.

"Did she agree?" he whispered.

"No," Celegorm answered. "I knew she would not. Of course, she had to apologize. She is so damn sweet."

"I knew it was futile to pursue that chance."

"I do not regret it," Celegorm answered. "At least this deed shall not be rendered so infamous when the time comes."

"So you have made your choice?"

Celegorm nodded and sighed.

"Then I suppose we have no choice."

"I suppose so!" Celegorm said harshly and turned away from his brother.

He began walking towards Lúthien. She had already mounted the horse. She was not at all fatigued despite the long, unending rides that they made that day. She sat tall and unbowed. His horse Thalion, a noble and powerful horse very much like his Master, seemed tame and gentle under her touch. Again Celegorm was stricken with her beauty and grace, her child-like innocence, and he could feel an ancient power and passionate spirit within her.

Excruciating pain was what he felt when he looked at her and climbed into the saddle before her and took the reins from her. Celegorm would destroy Lúthien's trust and take away from her innocence. Better that she despise him than to suffer torment from the Enemy.

May she and Ilúvatar forgive me.

The company came to the last mile of the Guarded Plain. It was twilight on the third day of their journey when the plains stretched out before them, tall grass blowing like waves in a green ocean. Lúthien was in high spirits, and she chatted gaily, but Celegorm could not look into her face knowing what he soon would have to do. Lúthien noticed this, and that same shadow of suspicion swept over her again, but she chose to ignore it.

Celegorm rode before them and called out to the wardens he knew were there. There was a rustling in the grasses on all sides of them. Half a dozen guards appeared before them, armored in shirts and leggings of grass and masks of grass.

"Who goes there?" came a voice speaking in Quenya, and a strong, fleet Elf stepped before the others. He was clothed all in green grass, and his face was masked, but Celegorm knew who he was.

"Well met at last, Arminas," he said scorningly. "I had expected the guards in the tower to approach us sooner. I am astonished that we have come so far unchallenged."

Arminas unmasked himself, and his blond locks fell upon his shoulders. He scowled and said, "I could recognize your foul presence anywhere, Celegorm, but duty calls. There is a stranger with you. An Elvin-maid not of our people. We must know who she is before we can let her pass into Nargothrond."

Lúthien bowed to him, and Curufin introduced her. "This is the daughter of King Thingol, Princess Lúthien Tinúviel."

Arminas' mouth gaped open, and his fair face was troubled. Then he drew himself up.

"Why is she here?" he asked. "And in your company, I must add? The heiress deserves much better guard than two Elves alone."

"Two Elves that are also high princes, Arminas. She is making for Nargothrond in our company."

Arminas looked all the more alarmed at this, and he asked suspiciously in Sindar, "Was the Princess not being kept in Doriath by the King?"

"I was," Lúthien answered sharply at her father's mentioning. "But I had urgent matters that no king's command could delay."

Arminas took Lúthien's hand and kissed it, but then he pulled her to him suddenly so that his lips were by her ear. He frightened her a little, but that fear quickly passed to wonder at the words he spoke.

"My lady, Beren did not wish you to come here," he whispered to her in Sindar. "Nor would he approve of the company you keep."

"What do you mean?" she said in a low voice.

"You must go back to Doriath," Arminas insisted. "Stay away from the brothers! They mean you more harm than good."

Lúthien started, but Arminas masked himself and stepped away from her. "I welcome you to Nargothrond, my most fair lady," he said loudly in Quenya. Then he turned to the brothers now and gave a hasty bow. "Why have you brought her here?"

"We have agreed to aid her in a certain quest."

"Strange. That is strange indeed," Arminas mused. "As long as the Princess is with you, lords," he said with an effort, "she may go into Nargothrond."

"Thank you, Arminas. May we pass now?"

"You may pass," Arminas answered stiffly. "But you will not receive a warm welcome. Since you broke your allegiances to Finrod, the Noldoli have become quite anxious."

"The Sons of Fëanor are rarely welcomed," Celegorm said.

Arminas scowled again and took one last look at Lúthien before he sprang into the grasses like an ape. It seemed that he was gone in a twinkling.

Lúthien stared after him, stunned by his words. The brothers had broken their allegiance to Finrod? She was aghast. Celegorm had mentioned nothing of this! They were Oathbreakers. If they had betrayed Finrod, why would they not betray her? The brothers could not have been deliberately lying to her this whole time, could they?

Curufin reminded her that they must go on and were not in Nargothrond yet. As they rode that last mile, Lúthien took thought to Arminas' warning, and she clutched Celegorm's shoulders, for she was riding behind him now, and she asked who Arminas was.

"He is nothing but a vagabond," Celegorm answered. "A lowly lord. He is an Elf come from the Havens of Círdan."

"One of the Teleri?

"No. He is Noldoli or he would never be allowed in Nargothrond."

"Was he sent by Círdan upon some special errand?" Lúthien asked.

"He and another called Gelmir came to warn Finrod that war is approaching. As you can see, there is little friendship between us."

"Did he know Beren?" The question spilled out of Lúthien, and she wished she had not asked at first.

"Why?" Celegorm asked. "What did he say to you?"

"He . . ." Lúthien wondered why she hesitated. "He said that I should return to Doriath, and that Beren did not want me to come near Nargothrond."

"I do not want you to come there either, Lúthien, with what you have planned afterwards."

"But I must whether fortune allows it or no!"

"And if fortune does not allow it? What then?"

"Then I shall go without fortune and will rely on chance."

Lúthien was very anxious, her mind in turmoil. The weather had turned bitter cold. The wind was blowing wildly through her shadowy hair. They were almost out of the forest now, and this branch of the great wood seemed so very different from Neldoreth. The Girdle did not protect this place; it was the territory of the Noldor. The trees were now naked of leaves, though it was not even winter. Lúthien was glad for her cloak. She would have been shivering without it. She could never stand the cold, but the cold was not what bothered her. Everything was still, almost stifling. Something was wrong, horribly wrong.

Celegorm wrapped his own fur cloak around her, and she thanked him courteously. Then she turned sharply, trying to look over the prince's shoulder. She had spotted a bird, the only animal she had seen all that morning.

"Stop!" he cried. "No more moving about!"

"Pardon me, my lord."

"I know that you must be very tired of the subject," he said, "but can you judge by what I have told you that Nargothrond may indeed be as great as Menegroth?"

"I have never been outside of Doriath, so I cannot be the one to judge if it was a great city or no, but I do not doubt that it will be beautiful," she answered.

"Nargothrond is a safe place. It may not be guarded by magic like your kingdom, but many warriors guard it."

"I do not have much trust in warriors," Lúthien said grimly. "And Doriath is not guarded by 'magic', as you call it."

She shrugged Celegorm's cloak from her shoulders, excusing herself and telling him she was beginning to grow hot and that she already had her cloak and it kept her warm enough. Then Celegorm studied her cloak and wondered not for the first time what could be so astonishing about it. He knew that he would have to wrest it away from her somehow. He had asked her about it several times, and Lúthien was reticent about the subject. He had tried to take it from her with subtlety, but she never took it off and wrapped it about her in sleep.

The company halted and Celegorm and Curufin got down from their horses.

"Why are we stopping here? Are we going to walk the rest of the distance?" Lúthien asked when they commanded her to get down from the horse.

"No, but we would take a brief moment of respite."

"I am not tired," she answered.

Lúthien dismounted, not wishing to argue. The eerie sensation was wrenching at her a little more. Celegorm and Curufin began speaking in whispers, and a great suspicion came over her, but she did not understand why.

"Something is not right," she said.

"Nonsense, Princess.

But she could not shake away the feeling. When the brothers urged her forward, she saw Beren's face flash before her eyes and heard his voice clearly calling to her, "Lúthien, run!" and she planted her feet.

"We are almost there, Lúthien," Curufin said, impatient to move on. "You were the one that rushed to be here."

She would not budge. Then Curufin spoke suddenly in Quenya, thinking that she would not understand, "Seize her!"

Having heard these words, Lúthien was filled with a rush of emotions. Then she leaped upon Thalion. Curufin caught her by the arm with one hand and with prodigious strength. She stifled a cry.

"Curufin!" she cried in astonishment. "What are you doing?"

"I am sorry to say, your highness, but this is the end of your journey."

"Let go!" she ordered. "You are hurting me!"

"What do I care?"

Curufin tightened his grip until she gasped from the pain. He tried to pull her from the horse. Thalion reared and Curufin snatched her other arm with the same, crushing force. Celegorm watched with a face set as stone.

"Celegorm!" she demanded. "What is the meaning of this? I do not find it at all amusing! Let go, Curufin!"

"Be still!" Curufin said harshly.

"Why do you not speak, Celegorm? Answer me!"

Celegorm refused to answer and cast his eyes down.

Lúthien commanded the horse forward, but Curufin dismounted her. She struggled so that the two fell to the ground together in a heap. They fell hard upon the earth. Lúthien felt as though her back had been broken by the impact. Curufin stooped over her and had her within his grasp. She struck out with her staff and Curufin caught the blow in the stomach. That allowed her to squirm free only to find herself facing Celegorm.

"You were supposed to enter willingly," he held out his hands, palms facing upward. "This is not what I had planned."

Lúthien gave him a piercing glance. Too angry for words, she punched him full in the face. He swayed, but he did not fall, and she attacked him, gnashing her teeth like a she-wolf, scratching out wildly like a tigress, and roaring like a she-bear. Celegorm was startled. Curufin had to rip her away.

"What are you doing!" she began to scream. "Let me go! How dare you handle me so!"

She rained blows on him. He began pulling at her clothes, trying to remove her cloak that he knew contained some secret power. It enraged her all the more, and his hands all over her repulsed her. She drew out her last defense, her sickle dagger. Curufin saw the glint of steel and backed off, but only for a moment. Celegorm seized her from behind, grasping her wrist. Curufin promptly took her other wrist. They forced her to her knees. Celegorm squeezed her wrist, already bruised by Curufin, until she finally let go of her dagger. It dropped to the earth, utterly useless.

"Let me go!" she screamed. "You promised me, Celegorm! You promised me that you would help me!"

"So I am."

"You are hurting me!"

"Hold her for me," Celegorm said to his brother.

With only Curufin to restrain her, she managed to yank a hand free and elbowed him in the stomach, knocking the wind out of him. He fell to the ground, gasping for air. Lúthien turned to make a mad sprint into the trees. If she could only catch herself upon the nearest branch, the brothers would have little chance of pursuing her at once. She had climbed many trees in her time, but Celegorm was upon her at once. She let out a shrill cry from the pain and Celegorm let go of her wrist and laid his grip on her shoulders instead. His grip was firm but not crushing, for he did not desire to hurt her. The Noldoli was the most warlike and the craftiest of the Elves, making them the strongest of all the three kindreds. The Sindar were not so strong, and Lúthien was a maiden alone. She was outnumbered and overwhelmingly outmatched, but her rage was far greater and stalled them for at least a little while.

The struggle was very confused, and Lúthien was not focused on anything but a chance to hurt the brothers as much as she could. She took one of their arms and struggled, and then Curufin suddenly let out a cry and fell backward, holding his bleeding hand. Lúthien could not recall ever biting him. Then Celegorm took Lúthien by one arm, and Curufin took her by the other. At last, she was overpowered.

"Devils!" Lúthien screamed. "Let me go!"

"Scream!" Curufin was amused. "Scream until you lose your voice and your lips are too dry and cracked to allow sound to pass through! Then you shall be no more trouble!"

"Let me go!" she screamed.

"You must understand, Lúthien," Celegorm said calmly. "I pleaded with you, and I humble myself in such a way to no one. Curufin, take it!"

"Take it?" Lúthien echoed his last words with confusion.

"No! I shall hold her and you take it," Curufin said to his brother breathlessly, ascending from the ground. "You may take your chances with her."

"Take it?" Lúthien repeated. "Take what? I have naught of value! What do I have at all that interests you so much? Are you but common thieves? I am not carrying an ounce of silver, nor do I even have a weapon!"

"But you do carry a weapon, Lúthien. We both know that your weapon is the dubious cloak you wear," Celegorm reminded her. "You use it as your defense, and I find that very clever. Congratulations! You have impressed me. Now take it off and hand it to me."

"No!" Lúthien rasped. "I will not follow your orders! Unhand me! Spare me the hassle of fighting you with my bare hands, for I have no other weapon besides my dagger. I do not know why you think my clothing is a weapon, but I can tell you that such a notion is folly!"

"You will not have any use for your cloak here," Curufin explained coldly. "You shall be staying in Nargothrond for quite a while, if not forever."

"I will not stay here! You have no right to keep me here against my will, so let me go!"

"No, Lúthien. We cannot allow you to go any further. It is amazing that you have come this far, and it seems a shame to end it here, but it must be done."

"I am going with you to the Isle, and you-"

"None of us are resuming the rescue. We must abort the mission. It cannot be done. Finrod and Beren are beyond hope of aid, and neither do we have any desire to win them back."

"What of King Finrod? Would you let him perish?"

"His death is certain, but you must find the good in any circumstance. It is too late for Finrod. Now our main concern is you."

Lúthien could not believe such a horrible notion for a moment: That the brothers could suddenly betray her like this. She had trusted them; she had even grown to like them. She looked at each of the brothers in turn, and when she glanced at Celegorm and saw the look in his eyes, she knew that what they had said was true, and that they had deceived her and let her vulnerability and despair play into their hands to gain power. For now, she understood clearly their plan. She was not the first that they had betrayed. With Finrod absent, they could easily usurp the throne of Nargothrond.

Their betrayal had been the worst yet. It was a sin that Lúthien would never forget and could not forgive. They had promised salvation and had only meant to prevent her from the Quest. As least Daeron had not lied to her as they had.

She looked at Celegorm quite piteously and said, "You took a vow! Will you not help me?"

"I am helping you."

"You liar! You promised me you would help me as long as I came here with you. I have done as you asked, but now you must hold to your end of the bargain! Let me go!"

"Promise or no, I cannot let you leave this place. I do not want to hear that you have been made Morgoth's captive."

Lúthien glared at Celegorm as he handed her to Curufin. He yanked both her arms behind her back, causing a shriek of pain.

"Careful!" Celegorm snapped.

"Never you mind. The girl is fine. Just take it."

Then Celegorm cut the string of her cloak at her breast with her own dagger, and she felt a sharp anger and a disgust that she had never known. There was nothing she could do to stop him.

"No!" she cried. "Give it back!"

Celegorm carefully folded the shadowy cloak and tucked it along with her dagger into his own things. Then he laughed.

"Well, I have not burst into flames yet, Curufin! You made me fret over nothing. Is this your so-called 'magic' cloak, Lúthien? I had expected a little more from the child of Melian the Maia."

"Perhaps it is just a cloak!" she snapped. "Once we enter Nargothrond, I shall struggle and scream and the Caves will echo when I announce your deeds!"

"Let her go now," Celegorm ordered. "We have got what we wanted."

Curufin released her. She glared at him and then turned on Celegorm, rubbing her arms and hands because Curufin had not cared to be gentle while he held her. Her eyes still burned with the rage she felt, and a fire seemed to have erupted inside her veins and coursed through her.

"I want you to return my cloak, Celegorm," she said with a strong voice, "and give me a horse, if you will. If you will not help me, then I will go alone, and it would be best if you did not hinder me. It would be little loss if I should die, and neither will it thwart your ambitious plans. You truly have no honor. What on earth do you gain by doing this to me?"

Curufin laughed grimly, and Celegorm shook his head.

"Lúthien, Curufin and I both knew perfectly well you were going to go alone if we had not agreed to help you in the first place. That is why we waited until we had arrived here to take your cloak and reveal the truth to you."

"You deceived me!"

"I have graciously saved your life."

"By rights you should be grateful!" Curufin said.

"You will not get away with this! I am Lúthien, Princess of the Sindar!"

"And do you know who I am, Lúthien?" Celegorm said sternly. "I am Celegorm, mighty prince of the Noldor, most powerful among all the princes of the Elves! I am the beast-master and warrior! I command a third of the king's army, and soon, I shall command all of it!"

"Your threats are vain," Lúthien said wearily. "I do not fear you in the least! You are a contemptible creature, one that I trusted with my whole heart! That trust has now been shattered! Let me go and rescue Beren and the others."

"You are the last person that could help him."

"At least I have the courage to do so," Lúthien said darkly. "I call you cowards!"

"We are willing to let that insult slide off our backs. What we do is for your own sake and for the sake of our people."

"Even if you and Beren were to succeed in your quest, our Oath would require this," Curufin added. "Your blood might be required."

"What of the oath you swore to me and Finrod!"

"Finrod betrayed his own people! He always favored Men, and so we are removed from our oath!"

"As for you," Celegorm said, "I promised to protect you. And so I must protect you from your own folly I deceived you with noble reason."

"Noble! What is so noble about attacking me and stealing from me?"

She covered her face, and Celegorm saw that her wrists were bruised, and Curufin had ripped out a strand of her hair during their struggle. Her hair was wild, her eyes wilder still. She felt her heart would burst form her ribs, and her stomach felt queasy. Her face was flushed with wrath.

"I apologize," Celegorm said sincerely. "It was not my intention for you to be harmed."

"You brought it upon yourself!" Curufin said angrily. "Look what you did to me!"

Lúthien could not help sneering and replied, "You deserved worse."

Curufin's arm still bled. His face had been scratched, and he had been kicked in all his vital places, including between his legs.

"Lúthien, you have every right to be angry with us, but do you know whom Sauron serves?"

"I know perfectly well who," Lúthien answered through gritted teeth. "And I know who Morgoth is. I am no fool."

"Have you no fear of the sorcerer at all?"

"Of course. I am mortally afraid of him, but if Beren was brave enough to face him, then I shall go before him also for Beren's sake."

"Do you know what Sauron could do to you? Your mother is the one he most fears, save his own master. He is not likely to love her daughter. Or he could hand you over to the mercy of Morgoth for a handsome reward. Trust me, Lúthien; Morgoth does not have very much mercy to spare. He has the same feelings."

"I know my risks," Lúthien snapped. "But you do not understand: Beren is alive in that tower somewhere, and he needs my help."

"Beren is already dead," Curufin said firmly.

"No he is not! My Mother told me he was alive."

"And how long ago was it when you asked Melian this? Was your mother at all, per say, reluctant to answer your questions? You know that she could have been lying to you to give you hope."

Lúthien bowed her head and did not answer. Of course she knew that, and she had once doubted it.

"No. That is not true. That is only what you believe!"

"He is dead, Lúthien. He could have been killed as soon as you set out on your quest. It is more than likely. You understand that of course? Or are you even listening to me?"

"Not any longer," Lúthien covered her ears.

Curufin pulled her hands away and forced her to look him in the face.

"Curufin!" Celegorm said his name with warning.

"He was no use to Sauron, so he killed him. I do not think he even begged for his mercy because he knew that no one would come for him. He was left only for the rats because the wolves had already gorged themselves upon his companions. I am sure that his corpse is rotting away in the pits right now, Lúthien, maggots crawling all over him, feasting upon the remains of his flesh. He is dead, and nothing can change that. You are too late, Lúthien."

"Curufin!" Celegorm bellowed. "If you do not close your mouth, I will gag you myself! Look at her! You are hurting her. She is in tears!"

Lúthien hid away her face. She had been betrayed again. Her own kin would hold her captive once again. It was too much for her to bear, and she had not even reached Tol-in-Gaurhoth! She was still in the realms of the Elf-Kingdoms! Would she ever have the chance to reach Beren in time?

Curufin did not say another word. He was satisfied. Lúthien had her hands clamped over her ears and was sobbing, blinded by tears. She could not listen. Her heart was so sore with yearning for Beren and at her failure, if she allowed herself to doubt, it would fail her. Celegorm did not cease his glowering at Curufin. He reached down to comfort her, but Lúthien shoved him away, and there was a look of such hate in her eyes that Celegorm felt as though she had stricken him.

"Ah, Lúthien," he cupped her face in his hands and she would not look him in the face. "You are Sindarin and little more than a girl. You are innocent and naive. I am truly sorry that you have become involved in these great matters, but I have no choice."

"Why are you wasting your breath, Celegorm?" Curufin scoffed. "Do you expect her to embrace you for your sympathy?"

"Come, Lúthien," he whispered in her ear, ignoring Curufin's remarks. "We are going now, and I do not think you want Curufin to take the honors of dragging you inside. I am afraid that we must restrict you to the chambers we assign you. You are not permitted to pass the gates or speak to anyone but my brother and I until after the wedding."

Lúthien suddenly ceased weeping and looked up into his face with suspicion. "Whose wedding?"

"Ours."

She tried to bolt again, but Curufin caught her in one stride.

"We are going in circles, Princess," he said grimly.

"I will never marry you!" she shrieked at Celegorm. "I would sooner die!"

"Now is not the time to woo you," the prince said coldly. "Now, will you come willingly into Nargothrond, or must we drag you?"

Lúthien slowly rose to her feet with as much dignity as she had left, "I will follow you."

They entered through the side-gate of the Caves of Nargothrond so that they would not attract attention. Lúthien beheld Nargothrond for the first time. It was not as fair as Menegroth, no more than a cheap imitation at best. The Caves of Nargothrond were smaller and fewer, and the Noldoli had not wished to recapture Nature underground. It was fashioned in the manner of cavernous halls in a palace rather than a forest. Much of the city was unfinished. There were incomplete caverns and hallways and some tunnels that led to nowhere or to chasms in the floor. Only the caves housing families were complete and decorated at all, and the Noldoli were less numerous and were scattered about the caves. They passed few people, and Lúthien was surprised when they did. The Noldor were even paler than the Sindar. Apparently, they rarely came above ground. At least in Doriath one could walk about the earth whenever they wished and in safety. There were always hunts and festivals to give them all a good excuse to enjoy the fresh air. Lúthien rarely went out into the sunlight by choice. She loved to look up at the sky without fear of the sun burning her eyes or skin, the animals stirred, and there was less fear of being caught by one of her father's soldiers.

When the brothers had Lúthien in Nargothrond, they hesitated. They had to decide where to house her. They spoke together in their own tongue.

"Keep her within your chambers!" Curufin said. "You are the one that wants her."

"She cannot stay in my quarters! She despises me!" Celegorm argued.

"She must learn to tolerate you if you intend to carry out our plan."

Lúthien laughed so that the brothers turned and stared at her. Then she spoke in their language.

"So, now that you have your captive you must decide what to do with her? I request a chamber as far from you two as possible!"

They looked at her in amaze.

"Oh yes," she said. "I understand everything you say."

Curufin frowned at her and said to Celegorm, "There is a small chamber secluded from the others in the innermost part of the Caves. It is a rather cozy place. The princess shall have her wish, and she shall also be kept out of sight and earshot."

"As good as a cell," Lúthien said bitterly. "Cold, damp, and devoid of light. I suppose anywhere would be better than Celegorm's chambers."

"If it is what you prefer, it is not so much a prison, is it?"

Curufin led her forward roughly.

"Get off me!" she shoved him aside in wrath.

"Be swift!"

"Give me some room to run!" she hissed, "and I guarantee you that I shall fly like an eagle!"

He let Lúthien go free, but when they came to a fork in the path, he pushed her so that she fell to the floor.

"Left turn, highness!"

"Enough, Curufin!" Celegorm said sternly. "You lead. I shall take the rear so that Lúthien shall be between us. There is no more need of force."

Celegorm tried to take Lúthien's hand to help her from the ground, but she wrenched free.

"We do not often have guests, so I hope you will forgive our hastiness in preparing you a place," he apologized, as any good host would.

"Are all your guests taken by force?" Lúthien retorted.

They continued on into the innermost part of the Caves. Lúthien was very footsore when they at last stopped before a door after walking through endless tunnel. Celegorm opened the door and bowed.

"Here are your humble quarters, princess."

Lúthien looked in terror at the small chamber. There was no furnishing but a bed, and a small fireplace. It was not even lit. She knew also that she was miles underground, and miles away from the Hall.

"What sort of prison is this?"

"It is no prison, Lúthien," Celegorm answered.

"Then what would you have me call it? All it needs is thick iron bars to be complete!"

"It is just a room. I know that it is a bit cramped, but I do not think you would be any more satisfied in my chamber, would you?"

Lúthien nodded that was so, but she looked into the cubicle again and did not find it much better.

"I am not going in there," she stated firmly.

"Nonetheless, this is where you shall stay!"

Curufin flung her into the room and slammed the door and locked it. Lúthien cast herself at the door, screaming.

"Celegorm, let me out of here! Let me go! Please let me out of here! You made a promise to me! A promise!"

"You are safe now, Lúthien. Sometimes you do good for others whether they like it or not."

"Celegorm?" she heard their footsteps fade. "Celegorm! Come back here! How dare you leave me here after all that you have done!"

"Do not tell me that you are still afraid of the dark!" Curufin laughed, and his drawling voice echoed.

Lúthien hated him more than she hated Celegorm, if that was possible.

"Celegorm! Please do not leave me alone!"

The sudden darkness was unbearable. Lúthien had never known such darkness or been confined in such a close space before. For the first time, she felt utterly helpless, alone, and afraid. She pounded upon the door and screamed for Celegorm, hoping that he would return or that she could break the door, but it did not budge and no one came to answer to her cries. When her throat was raw and her knuckles bleeding, she wrapped herself in blankets, longing for her shadowy cloak. She surrendered to the darkness and her despair and wept.

As a final blow, she fell into dreams where a host of nightmares assaulted her. She dreamed of eternal darkness, of Orcs in the shadows and wolves gnashing their teeth, of Celegorm's smiling face and false sweetness, and Curufin's ruthless grip and cruel eyes. They both held her down, laughing and pulling at her. Then she ran for what seemed like ages. The darkness clung to her.

Then there was a light, and Beren was in that light. She called out to him, but she found that she was chained. Beren saw her and raised his hand. Then he aged before her eyes. His hair became gray and fell out. His eyes sunk deep into their sockets, and his skin yellowed. His teeth fell out, and he shrank into skin and bones. Soon, there was nothing left but dust and a skull, maggots crawling in their sockets just as Curufin had described.


	13. Chapter 13 The Hound and the Maiden

Thirteen

The Hound And The Maiden

Beren was having nightmares too. He dreamed he held a Silmaril in his hand. He was in Doriath, and Lúthien was dressed as his bride. Even in dream, her face was unclear, too beautiful to be duplicated or imagined. She was smiling, and he felt his heart would explode with joy. But even as he held her in his arms on their wedding night, the Silmaril in his hand became black and scorched his hand. Lúthien became cold in his arms. She was dead, and the bed had become a bed of blood.

He awoke to a living nightmare. The darkness was impenetrable, and he was shivering.

"Who is alive?" was now the common greeting.

"We lost Torec," Finrod answered. "There are six of us left."

Beren cursed.

Time passed slowly. Every moment seemed like an age crawling by, and soon, not even Finrod could keep track of the sun and moon tides that the Eldar felt in their bones. To keep themselves form the brink of madness, those that were still alive spoke of younger days.

"My son must have wed by now," said Arthas, a once cheery Elf. "I feared he would be a bachelor all of his days."

"I fear that I will die a bachelor," Duro said grimly.

Duro had found it impossible to escape his despair, and he had not slept in days, fearing that he would be the next torn to pieces in the darkness. Beren was beginning to worry that he would betray them all, but he had not yet. No one's conviction had wavered.

"Torec made no sound," Irvin ignored Duro. "Perhaps he is not dead. All of the others screamed. Perhaps Sauron spared him."

"What if he betrayed us?" cried Corani.

"Then he would not be here," Finrod told him. "Torec was taken speedily, that is all. He had not the time to cry out to us."

"I will keep watch," Duro volunteered for the fifth time. "I cannot sleep anyway."

Sleeping was the most effective way of passing time, yet they all tired to avoid it as much as possible. They all suffered nightmares, and there was always the risk that they would not wake up again.

Lúthien was always in Beren's dreams. This time she was laughing in a field of flowers. Then he heard Sauron's voice again.

Her body is white and fair. Morgoth has become obsessed. Does not the thought of your master crushing a maiden in his hoard amuse you?

A great black shadow fell over Lúthien…

Beren awoke in a cold sweat, "Who is still alive?"

"This is not living," Duro replied.

"Sauron is letting the threat of death linger a while until his wolf is starving again, no doubt," Finrod said. "He wants us terrified."

"I stumbled about the pit while you all slept," Duro informed them. "Torec is dead. The wolf left his head lying on the floor."

"Are you certain it is his head?" Arthas asked. "It is so dark…"

"I am quite certain. Torec is vanished, and this is his head."

"Another blow," Finrod moaned. "He kept his oath and paid the price in full."

He said a prayer and was silent.

"If I do not eat something soon, I fear that I shall die before that cursed beast can make a meal of me," Irvin complained.

"We are all hungry."

None of them could remember when last the goaler had come with black beer and roasted rats for their bellies. He came at irregular intervals. In truth, it had been five days since they had eaten.

"Half of us should keep watch while the other half rests," Beren said. "I will keep watch. I do not want to sleep anymore."

Lúthien's first three days were spent in complete solitude. She had no desire to speak to the brothers anyway, for no matter how prettily she pleaded, no matter how many tears she shed and how she shouted, Celegorm was unmoved and Curufin ignored her. They had betrayed her, and she felt nothing but bitterness for them. But she soon realized that she had no one else to speak to, so she became very lonely. It was only after the third day that she saw light again and another person's face. Celegorm's servants provided her with meals, fire, new straw for her bed, and perfumes of all things. She touched very little of the food and the perfumes not at all. Perfume had always made her dizzy with their overpowering scents and more often than naught damaged her skin. She drank plenty of wine, however, and demanded audience with Orodreth.

He was the steward and the true ruler of Nargothrond while Finrod was absent, at least that is what she thought. He could not possibly tolerate the Sons of Fëanor's actions. But the servants would not speak to her or even dare to look at her. They only whisked themselves away. No doubt Celegorm had warned them that her beauty would blind them and her voice would bend the will of simple folk. Orodreth did not come and she began to long for any company. Even Curufin would have been welcome. She was alone with her wine and her nightmares. She grew more desperate and more anxious each day to escape.

The hunting party returned on the third day bearing news and dozens of wolf-skins. More than half of the skins were taken on account of Huan. He returned to his master, tail wagging and head held high.

"Good work," Celegorm patted him on the head.

The hound stared up at him with large yellow eyes expectantly.

"You are curious about the Princess?"

Huan nodded.

"She is taking up residence here permanently. She is to stay here in repose as long as she needs it."

Huan cocked his head in confusion.

"She may seem to be in the bloom of health, but the illness is within her heart and mind. We abandoned the Quest."

Huan growled.

"Finrod and Beren are as good as dead. Soon Lúthien will see that too."

His fur bristled.

"She is not being mistreated. Trust me."

He barked and gnashed his teeth.

"Do not behave that way. The Princess is safe here. We did not betray her!"

Huan questioned his master deeply about the matter, but Celegorm only told him that he could never understand such matters because he was an animal. This infuriated the Wolf-Hound, and he turned away from his master in disgust. Instead, he went to Lúthien. He followed the girl's scent and discovered her chamber at last. Furious, he attacked the guards at her door. Celegorm was not pleased.

"You act more like your cousins every day!" he said. "What am I to do with you? Must I lock you up with Lúthien?"

Many of the people in Nargothrond too were appalled at the news that the Princess of the Sindar was there in their city, for Lúthien was not kept secret for long. Hushed whispers soon became an outcry. What was Lúthien daughter of Thingol and Melian doing in the Noldoli kingdom? Why had the princes tried to keep her secret? Why was she not presented to the people? Had her father sent her for simple political talk? The people knew that she was her father's pet. He would not risk sending her to a Hidden City for idle talk. Perhaps he had he sent her to become their queen? It was always rumored that Thingol had the bachelor King Finrod in mind as a suitor for his daughter. But why send her when Finrod was on a quest?

At that time, Gelmir had gone to Doriath, and Arminas had stayed behind in Nargothrond so that they could both keep an eye on Celegorm and still send messages. Now Arminas had heard news long before about Lúthien's escape from Doriath through Gelmir and had seen her entering Nargothrond with his own eyes. Arminas, full of suspicion and doubt, told Orodreth, Finrod's brother and steward, of her captivity.

"Orodreth wants answers," Curufin told his brother. "And the people demand them."

"I cannot deny him. Of course, I shall speak with him."

"He wants to interrogate you before the throng, and not only you. He wants to question Lúthien as well."

"Tell him that she is indisposed!"

"But he demands it. If you refuse him, he will return Lúthien to Doriath at once!"

Celegorm frowned and said, "Orodreth wears that crown arrogantly and becomes more pious every day. But he is no public speaker and does not have the favor of the people. They know as well as I that the kingship was thrust upon him temporarily, and only because he is of the royal line. He is not capable of keeping order. It will not be difficult to sway them against him. As long as you can control the mob, you control the kingdom. That is why I so value them. If they had their will, I would be named their king. If Orodreth seeks to turn the small folk against us, the plan will backfire upon him."

Celegorm entered Lúthien's chamber unannounced with two maidens at his side. Lúthien sat in the corner with bottles strewn about. In three days, she had not gazed into a mirror, combed her hair, or changed her clothes. She gazed up at the prince with contempt.

"What do you want?"

"These two will be your handmaids. They will make you more presentable."

"Not for a wedding, certainly," she grinned.

"You should not drink so much wine."

The handmaids bathed her and clothed her in garments that Celegorm had chosen. She wore a humble white dress with white lace and refused shoes or a crown. She left her hair free as usual.

"She looks the part of an innocent," Celegorm whispered to his brother.

"Well, she certainly looks much better than she did," Curufin replied.

The brothers had also dressed humbly in boiled leather and leggings. Despite their change in wardrobe, their mannerisms were the same. They were above the law and the true leaders of Nargothrond.

"I do apologize for your incarceration," Celegorm played the gentleman. "But the way you were behaving was unacceptable. I feared for my people's safety and for your own. I thought you would need some time to adjust. How do you feel?"

Lúthien was speechless and only stared back at him with disbelief.

"From now on, you will be allowed from your chamber as long as you have an honor guard with you at all times, and you may not pass the gates. You will speak to no one save for my brother and myself. Do you understand?"

"No," Lúthien frowned. "I still do not understand why I am here or where we are going."

"Then follow me. You may have answers soon enough."

They brought her to the throne chamber, which stood upon a great pinnacle of rock so that it was in plain sight of the people. The entire populace must have been gathered below and about it, counselors, soldiers, and small folk alike. Lúthien tried to guess how many there were, but that was impossible. It must have been in the tens of thousands. The Sindar were far too numerous for such a gathering as this.

The throne was a single block of stone carved into the likeness of a chair. It was adorned with Finrod's serpents with jewels for their eyes and a diamond for the flower. No one sat upon it. Orodreth was seated with the small council. Plain stone chairs encircled a pit of flames. Orodreth sat with his back to the throne, his face much hardened by the burden his brother had thrust upon him. His golden daughter Finduilas sat by his side. Arminas was upon Orodreth's left and nodded at Lúthien. There were others seated she did not recognize, and they were all unsettled.

Celegorm's servants cast Lúthien before the small council, before the pit so that all could see her. She was bewildered and a little afraid, and the Noldoli gasped at the sight of her. Their murmurs became loud cries.

"Free the Princess!" the mob cried. "Release her, or she will be the death of us all!"

Their words frightened her all the more. With a flash, she realized what her captivity could mean. The Noldor and Sindar had always been suspicious of one another, and she might be the cause of a war between them.

Celegorm stepped beside her and she bowed her head. Then Orodreth raised his hand for silence.

"The daughter of Thingol is certainly not here by choice, nor did I bring her here," he announced, and he spoke in Quenya. "That was the doing of the Sons of Fëanor!"

"And now, perhaps we may explain why," Celegorm said.

"You shall!" Orodreth said not too kindly. "We demand an explanation! But first, Lúthien shall be heard." Orodreth switched to Sindar, "Speak, child, and tell us who you are, whither do you come from, and why you have come to the Hidden Kingdom of Nargothrond."

Lúthien drew in a breath to speak, but Celegorm prevented her.

"Why do you question her in the foreign tongue? Though there are many learned scholars amongst our people, the small folk cannot understand Sindarin. She is Lúthien daughter of King Thingol and Melian the Maia."

"The Sindarin heiress?"

"Aye, my lord. This is known to everyone! Why waste our time with such obvious questions?"

"What is a king's daughter doing in Nargothrond?"

"Her highness is staying in Nargothrond until she has recovered," Celegorm answered. "We found her upon the road ere we were returning from the outskirts of Doriath. My hound Huan of Valinor was drawn to her scent and saved her from a pack of Sauron's wolves."

"If she is ill, then she belongs in the house of healing. Why are you keeping her here? They say that you are keeping her against her will. Many have heard that Lúthien escaped from her father's keeping," Orodreth inquired.

It was true that the crown had been thrust upon Orodreth. He did not desire the position his brother was more than capable of filling, but he was of the line of ancient kings and was no fool. He had never trusted Celegorm, and what little trust he had was greatly diminished because of the prince's words at the council in which Orodreth was named Finrod's steward and not, as had been expected, Celegorm.

"Because the Princess is not ill. She only needs rest, and I feel responsible for her. She is not our captive."

"That is a lie! Lúthien cried. That is a horrible lie!"

"What was your errand?"

"She was seeking a Quest."

"Let the Lady speak!"

"Of course, my lord," Celegorm's voice dripped with disdain.

Lúthien rose to her feet and Celegorm watched her narrowly.

"First I would like to say that I agree, Lady, that you are indeed the fairest of all Ilúvatar's children," Orodreth commented to ease the impatient horde.

"I appreciate your compliments, my lord," her answer was mechanical.

She had heard this compliment too many times at court for it to affect her and make her blush like a simple-minded girl, and her wrath at Celegorm's betrayal had been rekindled by his misleading words.

"Why were you wandering in the forest? For what reason did you flee your home and disobey your father's commands?"

"Good people of Nargothrond," she began addressing the mob in Quenya, surprising them all. "First I would like to answer the questions that you asked Celegorm. I will speak truthfully. I came to Nargothrond in good faith with the hope that I might receive aid from the Sons of Fëanor. Prince Celegorm promised that if I came with him here, he would grant my desire. But before your very gates, Celegorm and his brother attacked me, stripped me of my only weapons, and betrayed me! I am not here of my own accord. Celegorm is keeping me here against my will and I demand that he fulfill his promise or let me be on my way!"

The roar of the crowd was overwhelming at her announcement. Celegorm placed his hands gently but firmly upon Lúthien's shoulders. His lips touched her hair, and he felt her stiffen.

"Do not be rash, highness," he whispered. "In the end you shall only humiliate yourself."

" I will let the people decide that," she answered.

"Well, Celegorm, do you deny this accusation?" Orodreth said.

"No," Celegorm answered simply.

The entire hall became deathly silent.

"What I said was true. We found her upon our road after a narrow escape from the wargs. She asked me for aid, and I promised I would aid her in any way that I could, if I could. I have kept my promise, but I may have deceived her unintentionally. And if I gave you a false notion, Lúthien, I am indeed very repentant. I hope that you will exonerate me in the future."

He glanced at her and she returned a dark look. If he was at all sincere, he was using it to draw sympathy from the people.

"She was certain that I would aid her in her Quest," Celegorm continued. "But I did not aid her only so that I could save her. A strange madness has passed over her. That is why I said that she was weary and must be kept here. I feel obligated to her and I have a strong affection for her."

"Who would not love such a pretty fay?" Arminas said, unshaken by his pleasant words. "But explain this madness that ails her."

"Tell them what you told me, Lúthien," Celegorm commanded. "What is your Quest?"

Lúthien hesitated and wondered what her Quest may sound like to those that heard. Orodreth was waiting.

"My Quest is to rescue Beren and Finrod from Sauron and ultimately win a Silmaril from Angband," she said, her voice suddenly steady and strong.

There was a stunned silence. Lúthien's heart sank, and Celegorm grinned. She had never quite realized how ridiculous the Quest seemed until she had spoken it aloud. Then the prince released her and spoke to the crowd.

"Do you not see? An evil spell was cast upon her! She also knew the mortal Beren and is driven by her grief over his loss. For this reason she flew from Doriath. Should I have let her fly heedless into the peril of Angband as well to appease her? I kept my promise. I have not disgraced my name. I have not only saved this maid's life, I may have saved the Elvin Nation. Lúthien may feel betrayed, as well she should, but when her madness has passed, she shall be very grateful to me."

"Then why do you not return her to Doriath?" Orodreth demanded.

"She does not wish to return. Ask her yourself."

"That is true," Lúthien murmured.

"Speak up, Highness. They cannot hear you," Celegorm said.

"It is true! I did not wish to return to Doriath! But I do not wish to remain here either! I am not mad! I will fly into peril not for madness but for the sake of Beren, whom I love. As for where I would rather be, I would rather go home to my father than dwell with Celegorm! He is holding me captive for his own aspirations! He wanted Beren and Finrod dead, and he is a traitor!"

"Though I denounced Finrod and Beren's quest, I did it for the sake of my Oath which I cannot break. I bear the King no ill will. I would attempt to save him if I could. However, he made his choice. He followed Beren into his grave. Sauron immediately captured the company that set out upon the Quest for the Silmaril. Sadly, they are beyond hope of rescue."

The Noldor were grieved by this news, and Celegorm spoke fondly of Finrod and those that had gone with him. The prince had the charisma of his father, and he was exorcising all of his talent.

"She should be returned to her father. She belongs with her people," Orodreth said sternly.

"Thingol is a tyrant," Curufin answered.

Lúthien would not tolerate such insult. "My father is not a tyrant! He is a loving father and a powerful ruler!"

"Is that so, Lúthien?" Celegorm smiled his sly smile. "It seems love can blind us all. Tell the people what your father did when you first attempted to leave Doriath."

"I was stopped," she said curtly.

"How?" Celegorm pressed.

"My father's soldiers."

"And? Your father is not here to silence you, little one. You are safe. I promised to keep you safe."

The tenderness in Celegorm's voice was real, but Lúthien knew his reason for showing it. He wanted her to tell the truth and twist her testimony so that her father appeared to be a monster, she a naïve child, and he her savior. Manipulation was an alien concept to her, but Celegorm used it to his advantage.

"I will not condemn my father!" she blurted.

"Just tell us the truth, Princess," Orodreth goaded.

"My father's soldiers brought me before my father, and he would not have me thrown into the dungeons, so they built a house for me in the tallest tree in Doriath."

"He imprisoned you and did not even keep you safely."

"No one can 'keep me' for long!"

"You be the judge, ye people!" Celegorm said. "Will you permit me to save the daughter of Melian? Do you not desire, as I do, for her to live? What shall we do? Release Lúthien into the Wild where she will only find the Enemy in wait for her or send her back to bondage in her overbearing father's house?"

The crowds shouted. They agreed that Celegorm's intentions were pure. They could not see the monster that he was. Orodreth was defeated.

"Very well," he said at last and very reluctantly. "I will give her to your care since you are so obligated."

"My good name has not been tarnished. Thank you, Orodreth," Celegorm bowed and added nonchalantly, "Milord."

Celegorm took Lúthien by the arm, and she did not struggle and stayed her tears. She knew that she would receive no help from the people before her. Celegorm was a deceiver. She was taken deep into the Caves and into her prison again.

But Orodreth sought out a private audience with the upstart prince and said, "I do not feel that what you are doing is right. You staged that ploy to win the crowd to your cause! I would like an interview with Lúthien so that I might learn the truth of these matters, without you or one of your spies to contort or dictate what she says!"

"What you heard in the throne room was the truth," Celegorm said very calmly. "I would never lie to the small folk."

"You twisted it somehow!"

Celegorm shrugged, "The truth is no longer absolute if it is distorted. I told the absolute truth. It must not have been what you wanted to hear."

"Thingol shall become irate when he learns that we have his daughter and refuse to return her to her own kingdom! She is the heiress of Doriath. She belongs there no matter the strain between her and the present ruler. You must release the Princess at once. I command you in the name of King Finrod!"

"You command me in the name of Finrod, eh?" Celegorm was prepared for the steward. "You and what army? You are nothing, Orodreth, but a name, and all of Nargothrond knows it. You have no troops of your own, and the Sons of Fëanor have many a good warrior at our disposal. For it is well known, that if one dares to commit an infraction against one of the Sons, then all seven are affronted. Finrod's best officers left with him, and the Royal Troops cannot possibly fight against the wishes of the people. Do you wish to instigate a civil war while the throne is vacant and the peoples' favor so unclear?"

"Are you threatening me?"

"It is merely a fact."

"If you do not obey me, you commit treason against your king!"

"Finrod is dead. You are not king and never will be. The populace wants the security of a strong, militant leader during these times. You are not Finrod. You are a weak, blubbering fool and are unprepared for a crown. If they offered it to you in truth, and not just in name, would you even take it?"

"I would if I knew it was going upon your head if I refused!"

"The wheels are already set in motion, my dear steward. Already the people scoff at you in their cups."

So even Orodreth's heart was swayed. Only Huan of Valinor knew or even suspected what was truly in Celegorm's heart.

King Thingol was sitting at his table with a meal laid out before him when Mablung entered and kneeled at his feet.

"You may rise, and dine with me now that you are here," Thingol said without looking up from his plate.

"You have not eaten, my lord?"

"With my daughter gone?"

Mablung gave a humble bow and answered, "I understand, my lord. But I have tidings that may lift your spirits."

"Leave me. I have not the heart to listen to tedious reports."

"Yes, my lord," Mablung said, and his voice lowered to a whisper. "I know that you are weary of lighter matters, but these tidings concern the Princess."

Thingol rose from his seat at once, "Have you found her? Is she here?"

Mablung laughed, "I knew that would have you at attention. Now, my lord, may I give you the full report?"

"I must have every detail! Where is she? Has any harm befallen her?"

"My lord, after she escaped, we were unable to track her for very long, but we know from the messages that we have received that Lúthien was on the outskirts of Doriath and had even reached the Guarded Plain when her path crossed some of the Noldoli princes. In fact, my lord, one of the princes has something to say."

Mablung handed the King a script, and the seal of Fëanor was upon it. Thingol looked upon the crest with disdain, for he had little love for the Sons of Fëanor. He had half a mind to refuse the Noldoli messenger and burn the letter, but he opened up the message, hoping it would tell him more about his daughter.

"Have you told the Queen?" he asked Mablung.

"No. I went to you first," Mablung told him, and then he could not conceal his excitement any longer. "Thank Ilúvatar that she is alive!"

"Yes, but now you may sit and eat, for I have no appetite for such food. I must feast upon these tidings and see what the great and powerful Prince Celegorm has to say to me."

"Very well, my lord. Should I consult the Queen?"

"No. I shall speak with her soon enough."

"Yes, my lord."

Mablung sat at the table, but he did not eat the food. Once the King had left the hall, he ran to spread the news.

Thingol stowed himself away and read the words of Celegorm by candlelight. His script was fine and graceful and was written in fine golden ink. It had all the pleasant features necessary, but Thingol frowned, for it was written in Quenya, the Forbidden Tongue, and instead of a signed signature, there was the star of Fëanor, emblem of the house of princes.

Elu Thingol Gray-mantle, King of Doriath and beloved of his people, the Sindar, Teleri, and the Laquendi, Lord of the Thousand Caves . . .

I, Prince Celegorm, third of the seven sons of Fëanor, send you my most humble greetings as a friend and ally during these times. I have great news for you, both good and bad, yet both are imperative to your wisdom. The troubles of Nargothrond are of paramount importance to all the realms of Arda, and I fear for this great realm. My lord, I wish that all that I had to inform you of was indeed happy tidings, but sorrow is a thing not uncommon to our race. We suffer it as we must. But this must be indeed the most evil of tidings and the most grievous since my father Fëanor was lost. I write this letter with both joy and sorrow, and perhaps some of what I say will lighten your cares.

First, my spies and scouts and those of Nargothrond have reported that the Enemy is growing bolder. Orcs crop up everywhere in great numbers, constantly raiding any small settlements, capturing or torturing to death all that they find. They wield better quality weapons than ever before and are becoming increasingly well organized. Wolves and Wargs sent from Tol-in-Gaurhoth (formerly Minas Tirith) are becoming a common sight in Nargothrond. They became a nuisance when a certain mortal called Beren arrived several months ago.

Beren invoked King Finrod's oath made to his father Barahir, a Man long since dead. Finrod was forced to accept Beren's terms as a result of this cruel trick and took several of our people on this now infamous 'Quest for the Silmaril' and moved deep into Enemy territory and was captured by Sauron. A rescue would be impossible, and if it were possible, it would already be too late, I fear. King Finrod is dead, and Beren is dead, and all those good lads that went with them on this misadventure. Even as I saw them depart upon the Road, I knew in my heart that I would never see their fair faces again. This has been a tremendous loss to the Noldor and all of Beleriand. Our people are restless. The city of Nargothrond has been in mourning. Finrod named Orodreth steward, but there is talk that he shall resign his position and the Crown shall be passed to another by popular vote. The tension has everyone fearful for our future.

I know Finrod was your ally, and that you have long had friendship with him. It is my hope that the alliance between our people will continue to be strong. I have words that may give small comfort, if you would heed them. He died a noble death, for he defied the sorcerer Sauron. It was a valiant death, and he shall be well rewarded for it. Few among the great and the Wise now are bold enough to stand steadfast against the onset of the Enemy. And though his death was most likely cruel, he has gone to the Blessed Realm and dwells with his father who defied Gothmog, lord of Balrogs. All I regret is that we have no body to anoint. Memory must serve us now, and memory is enough during these dark times.

As for Beren son of Barahir, Lord of the Edain and of his race, I know that you had less love for him, and I had no warm feelings for him either, but he was regarded for great deeds, and he was revered as his father's son. Finrod has redeemed his oath to Men, whom he loved so dearly. I refuse to shed tears. We quenched ourselves of tears in the Battle of Sudden Flame. May it be that we shall have our revenge!

Not all is as dark as it seems. We have had some mirth here in Nargothrond. I have also written this letter in order to console you of a matter that is of greater concern to Doriath in particular. We have long since heard that the Lord of the Thousand Caves grieves for a most precious treasure that flew from his kingdom. Your daughter, Lúthien the enchantress, heiress of Doriath and all your tributaries, your only offspring and fairest that has come before or ever shall be. Now, you should rejoice and grieve no more. She has been found.

By chance, it seems my brother and I stumbled upon Lúthien herself just right outside of your door, in Nivrim, while hunting Sauron's wolves. She is alive and well, safe here in Nargothrond under guard and ample care. My lord, I have found this task to be a light burden, and even delightful. The Princess is in my capable hands and she dwells in one of the greatest cities East of the Sea. However, she does not wish to return to Doriath, and I cannot force her to leave.

Ere I end, I must also ask of you a great thing. Over the days that Lúthien has dwelt in the city, all have taken joy in her. I have a confession to make to you. Her presence has been of greatest joy to me. I have grown fond of her, as I said, but I feel now that I have found the bride that I have long missed. I have come to admire her fiery spirit and was stricken by her beauty. She grieves for her mortal lover, I for my kinsman Finrod and for my people. Lúthien has become dear to my soul over a short period, and indeed, when I first looked upon her, I loved her.

I will wed her. Please consider all that I say carefully, and again, I say that Lúthien is safe here. I await your favorable reply. I hope that such a union would be blessed and shall cement our alliance. I shall continue to report of the Noldor's state in Nargothrond and of your daughter's progress since there is none other qualified to do so.

CELEGORM

The letter angered Thingol. Though the Noldoli prince's letter was cordial, any fool could catch the mockery beneath the courtesy and notice the subtle hint of a threat. Celegorm constantly reminded Thingol that the throne was vacant and would likely be seized by him. His influence in Nargothrond was great, and he was of the royal bloodline. His elder brothers were unfit for the throne of Nargothrond. Meadhros' only purpose was the Oath of Fëanor and vengeance. He had been offered kingship once before and refused it. Maglor was only interested in music and philosophy. His younger brothers would be little better. Caranthir had the blackest mood, and the young twins found everything amusing.

Also, Celegorm mentioned that he had come upon his daughter in Nivrim, only several leagues away from where Thingol's search parties had been. He could have brought her to them then and there. Instead, he had taken her to Nargothrond. He wondered if she was even being treated according to her status. Neither was Celegorm asking for her hand, he rather asked for Thingol's blessing. 'I will wed her." and, "I await your favorable reply' he said. The arrogance of that Kinslayer! Already he spoke as though he were king of Nargothrond and Lúthien his queen. Beren had never been worthy of his daughter. He was a mortal and heir of a fallen House. But Celegorm was little better. Though he was a crowned prince very likely soon to be a king, he was a Son of Fëanor. He had a curse upon his soul, and he was far too ambitious for Thingol's taste. All the Sons of Fëanor had a taint to them.

The words caused a paternal anger and hate like bile to rise in his throat. He was boiling with such wrath that he did not wait for the queen to come to him. He burst into her bower. Her handmaids scattered in fear except for Laisie and Artanis, Celeborn's wife.

"Elwë, do you not respect my privacy?" Melian asked without rage or scorn. It was a genuine question. "It must be something frightfully upsetting for you to come to me instead of summoning me properly."

"Indeed it is! Pardon me for skipping formalities. This has to do with our daughter!"

"Of course. If it were anything else, you would not be so impulsive."

"Send the girls away!"

"You will not be rid of me so easily!" Laisie answered. "If it has something to do with Lúthien, I have as much a right as you to hear of her fate."

Thingol was about to object, but Melian spoke first, "Of course you may remain here. Artanis may remain as well. She is family now. The others, I am afraid, must hear of this second-hand. It is no loss, girls. We know nothing of the Princess' whereabouts for certain, but when we know, we will tell you."

The handmaids attempted to hide their disappointment and bowed before they departed. These were family matters, after all, and surely they would tackle Laisie in the halls later to gossip when she came for her meal the next day. Artanis did not move from her seat and was silent.

Thingol did not hesitate. He told Melian heatedly of the message. Then he grabbed a quill and a parchment to write a direct response.

"Think carefully before you reply, Elwë," his wife's calm voice forced him to pause. "Celegorm has our daughter's life in his hands."

"He speaks as though he were king already. How dare he ask me such a thing? To think that my daughter would be given to the likes of him! I would sooner wed her to Celeborn! She shall be returned to me at once! The Noldor have already slain the sons of the Teleri," he said bitterly. "Do they wish to steal the Sindarin daughters as well?"

"The prince does not lie in his letter, but there is little truth either. Lúthien would never have gone to Nargothrond willingly. I have no doubt he ensnared her somehow. She had just escaped from Doriath for the purpose of rescuing Beren. She loves him-"

"No, she is bewitched!"

Melian and Artanis exchanged glances, and then the Queen continued, "I wonder. Bewitched then. She would never abandon her quest. There is evil in the Sons of Fëanor's actions."

"On that, we can agree, wife," Thingol growled.

"Lúthien was vulnerable once she set foot outside of the Girdle. Celegorm must have seized her then or deceived her. The latter is most likely. It was neither wolves nor Orcs that she needed to fear. It was a fair and friendly hand."

Thingol cursed under his breath. "But what he told me in this message has me perturbed. Melian, is it true that Finrod is dead, and that Beren is dead?"

"There is no proof of it."

"But are they dead?"

"I cannot say."

"Very well, my queen. Keep your secrets from me. That is what you have been doing since this all started!"

"It is most convenient that during the King's absence, Celegorm is planning to wed a royal bride and Orodreth steps aside for him without a fight. He was either threatened or blackmailed."

"What a vile scheme! I knew Celegorm was ambitious but treacherous as well?" Thingol shouted. "And using my child as a tool to ensure his power . . ."

"He would never harm her. That would gain him nothing," Melian reassured him. "I do not know for certain what his true motives are behind his proposal. Perhaps he only thirsts for the power he would gain through Lúthien. Perhaps he does love her. Maybe it is a little bit of both. But he can keep her."

"I will not allow it! She belongs here with her people."

"With her father, you mean," Artanis spoke up.

"She may take my place one day," Thingol defended. "As the death of Finrod proves, even an Elf-king can be slain. He is not the first, nor will he be the last. And with Finrod dead, leaving no proper heir behind, the Sons of Fëanor may ascend the throne. They would drag us into war all for the sake of their Silmarils."

"What will be your reply?"

"Give me a parchment."

Lúthien was wandering the Caves alone. The brothers were loosening their grip upon her with the passage of time. She no longer needed her 'honor guards' when she left her chamber. The Noldoli usually avoided her, and the gates were guarded so she could not escape. But today was different. A tall, slender figure of an Elf approached her, still dressed in his mud-stained traveling gear, and then she turned and Celebrimbor saw her features close for the first time. Her striking beauty astounded him- the long dark hair flowed like a river down her back and her face, pale despite the bright glow of the fire of the torches, was both beautiful and finely drawn.

For a moment she stared at him, searching his gaze, and then turned and made as if to leave the room. Celebrimbor hesitated and then spoke.

"Forgive me, Lady," he said. "I have come but lately from the wild and have not had time to change."

"It is I who should beg forgiveness, sir, for my ill manners," she replied. "When first I saw you I thought you were someone else so that I appeared rude."

"Whom did you mistake me for?" the Elf asked, throwing back his hood.

She looked at him closely, "You are a spitting image of your father, Celebrimbor."

She smiled then and Celebrimbor felt at once as though the Caves were bathed in a golden light. She had smiled so seldom these days. "It is wonderful just to speak to someone again!" she explained.

About her neck, he glimpsed a narrow silver chain that bore the ring he knew so well; twin serpents entwined about a crown of golden flowers. She caught his gaze and turned the ring in her fingers.

"Yes, it is the same," she said. "I see in your eyes that your father must have told you why I am here."

"He has told me some, my lady."

"Celegorm plans to take me as his bride, and if he does, he shall also seize the throne of Nargothrond. That would make you his heir, at least until he gets me with child. Congratulations."

Celebrimbor became pale, "My father mentioned nothing of this! Forgive my ignorance! I have only just arrived home to find the whole city in an uproar! I am so confused…. You say that you are to wed Celegorm, yet you wear the Ring of Barahir. I thought that he was merely keeping you here for your safety."

Lúthien looked at the youth closely, for that is what he was and among the younger generation of Noldoli. He had the blue eyes of his line, Fëanor's eyes, but the golden hair of his mother. Could she trust him?

He must have sensed her doubt. "I am listening, my lady."

He came for Lúthien that night, and with him, she tried to escape. They had almost made her way out of Nargothrond, but Curufin had been there near the gates by coincidence. He recognized her and stopped her.

"You!" Curufin was outraged when he recognized his son. "What are you doing here?"

"Father-"

"I will deal with you later!"

"Damn you to hell, Curufin!"

He threw her to the ground. "Save your curses, child!"

"Call me not so!" she hissed. "You may be perhaps a thousand years older and wiser than I, but I do not need to grovel before your feet!"

"I do not know what my brother sees in you that he is willing to put up with you. You will not go near my son again! He has never gone against me before. What did you do to him?"

"I did not seduce your son to help me!" Lúthien cried in outrage. "You are sinning against heaven gravely for this! Celebrimbor, how can you call him father?"

"Hold your tongue," Curufin whispered.

"I will not hold my tongue! Celebrimbor, your father and uncle are the reason why I suffer now! They are liars, thieves, and murderers. Even as they plot against me they plot against Finrod and Orodreth. They will stop at nothing to gain the throne, including deceiving the small folk. He and Celegorm told me with their own lips of their treachery. Must you add to the Fëanor name?"

That was when Curufin lost all control. He struck her so that she fell backwards. Celebrimbor stood in frozen astonishment and disbelief. Even Curufin seemed surprised at his own outburst. Celegorm had forbidden him to strike her. It was too visible a sign of oppression. The people might notice and begin to suspect the brothers.

"Blame yourself!" he hissed. "My brother may be blinded by your beauty, but I am not. Remember that, Lúthien!"

Curufin narrowed his eyes at her, as if daring for her to say something more, but she did not speak. She did not fear being struck again. It gave her a sense of pride that she could control her anger better than he and if he continued to beat her, he would be exposed for what he was. Curufin returned her to her chamber and went to report to his brother. Celebrimbor slipped away, knowing he could never look at his father the same way again.

"Here," Celegorm thrust a parchment at his brother. "Read it."

Celegorm,

You are bold and ambitious, prince, but you presume too much. My alliance extended only to the Children of Indis and to the small folk, never to the upstart Sons of Fëanor. If Orodreth is crowned, as he should be, I will negotiate with him gladly. However, I would like to offer my thanks to you for finding my daughter. For that, I will choose to forget your insolence. I ask now that you return Lúthien safely to her homeland. I would never force my daughter to wed, and I am afraid that you lack the qualities of a faithful and honorable husband. Your wife and mistress is your bloody oath, and I doubt your motives for asking my daughter's hand. Therefore, if you do not return my heir within a reasonable amount of time, I will have no choice but to make war upon Nargothrond. I need not remind you that my army outnumbers your own, nor will they relent for the sake of their princess. Return Princess Lúthien to Doriath!

Elwë Thingol

Melian

Curufin was astonished. He had never expected the peace loving Sindar to threaten war! A war of Elf against Elf! How Morgoth would laugh and how the Valar would weep and curse! Such a war would be the Kinslaying a hundred thousand times over, and all for the sake of a maiden.

"He must be bluffing."

"Somehow, I think not," Celegorm said. "It is well known how much Thingol loves his daughter."

"And what if we went to war? Each one of our soldiers is worth ten of the Sindar's!"

"I do not think it wise to underestimate them," Celegorm warned. "Unlike Morgoth, the Sindar know the ways of the wild as well as stone. Thingol knows exactly where Nargothrond is. The Sindar outnumber us. Also, the Queen signed the letter as well. I had forgotten about her."

Celegorm and Curufin regarded her signature with disquiet. The entire letter had been in Thingol's hand except for the queen's signature. Those few pen strokes were the last on the parchment, almost an afterthought, yet it stood apart from the others.

"She is the true power behind Thingol's throne. She is the one that keeps Doriath fenced off from the world with her magics. She is a Maia, rumored to be kin with Yavanna. I do not seek divine wrath. We want the Sindar as allies, not as enemies."

"Things might be made easier if you could get the Princess with child," Curufin suggested. "You must take her now!"

"What?"

"If Lúthien carriers your child, she will belong to you, and it will become Thingol's heir as well as the heir of Nargothrond! The people cannot possibly reject a child of two royal bloodlines! But you must take her now while you have the chance!"

Celegorm considered that notion for a moment. He remembered how Lúthien had looked that day in the sunshine, the first time that he had laid eyes upon her. She was so beautiful and desirable. It was no lie that he wished to take her without consequences, to hold her in forbidden and passionate embrace. He desired above all things to possess her. If she bore a child, Thingol would be forced to acknowledge it as his own, and Celegorm as the father. Then he would have a strong son to inherit his throne or a little daughter as lovely as her mother that would grow to become a fair queen.

But he quickly shoved his lustful thoughts from his mind. Forcing Lúthien would be evil in the eyes of the Valar and all things holy. He would also risk the loyalty of the people. They had approved of keeping her in Nargothrond until she recovered from her 'illness'. It had taken all of his persuasive power to sway their hearts. Would they forgive him if he committed such an unspeakable act? Could he even bring himself to do it? It would certainly turn the girl's heart from him forever. But her heart may never turn. And even if he did manage to get her with child, there was no guarantee it would survive and be accepted. Thingol and the rest of the Eldar could reject the child as no more than a bastard and an abomination.

"I am not sure I can do such a thing."

"What is it that you lack, Celegorm? The courage or the stamina?"

"I lack the cruelty required for such an act."

"And forcing her hand is not as cruel? Just because she says the words does not make it less evil or cruel. If you will not take the girl, then I shall do the deed for you," Curufin declared.

Now Celegorm looked at his brother in a new light. Curufin had never shown the slightest interest in Lúthien before. But then again, he was no longer a married man. His wife was dead and his son Celebrimbor was fully grown. The girl was the fairest in the world. No doubt even he had succumbed to her charms. Celegorm had once thought that Curufin was the better of them. After all, it was Celegorm that planned the deception and was determined to wed Lúthien, but Curufin seemed to relish it all. He was always too rough handling Lúthien. She seemed to fear and hate Curufin more than Celegorm, and what he had volunteered shocked him. Now he realized that his brother was by far the viler of the brothers. He had thought he knew his younger brother so well, but he was wrong.

"No!" Celegorm said firmly. "I would rather not share Lúthien, and her child should be my own."

"Very well. But you have no time to consider and no time for remorse and reason."

"Let me remind you, Curufin, that Lúthien is my ward and I will decide what is to be done with her."

"Allow me to remind you that coddling the Princess is a mistake. She made an attempt to escape today. I suggest that you, her established keeper, keep her a little better."

"And what of your own son?" Celegorm gave it right back to him. "I hear it was he that aided her attempt. You have explained matters to him I trust?"

Curufin colored, "Not exactly."

"How unfortunate when you are betrayed by your own blood. If you had any hope of Celebrimbor becoming my heir, abandon all hope now! I will beget sons upon Lúthien but I will do it in the proper manner. Did you handle her gently?"

"I keep telling you, Celegorm," Curufin told his brother. "You should choose a bride perhaps of lesser beauty, but with a less haughty tongue. She cursed me, of course, but she also scorned our father. And then she defiled my name in front of my son and I lost myself. I struck her."

"If there are bruises, Curufin, I shall have to deal with it as I see fit," he said angrily.

"Well, I do not regret it. But you must make it clear to Lúthien that she cannot go on as she is."

Suddenly, Huan, who had been hiding behind the door, leaped upon Curufin, knocking him to the floor. The hound snarled in the younger brother's face.

"Get your mongrel off of me!"

"Huan, enough!"

The Wolf-Hound nipped at Curufin's throat to draw a single drop of blood, and then returned to his master's side.

"That was a warning," Celegorm explained. "If you mistreat Lúthien again, Huan promises a mangled arm. I will not be able to stop him even if I wanted to."

"Your damnable dog is as love struck as you are, Celegorm!" Curufin hissed as the small prick began to heal rapidly. "Make him guard the wench!"

"Perhaps I shall. Huan obeys me in all things, unlike someone I know."

Curufin regained his feet, "You are growing soft, brother. You do not listen to wise counsel anymore either."

"As a matter of fact, I do," Celegorm replied with sudden resolve. "I agree that the Princess has too much free reign. My servants are too generous, and I often forget that Lúthien is the daughter of a Maia. Huan seems immune to her magic. He can guard her better than most. As for Thingol, he is a fool, and his threats are empty. He would not dare make war upon Nargothrond, especially if Lúthien is wed to me and accepted as my queen. We should begin the preparations for the wedding."

"What of an heir?"

"That may come later. We shall not discuss this matter again, understood?"

Curufin nodded. Celegorm turned to Huan.

"Come," he said. "We should discuss these matters with Lúthien."

Huan waited outside of the door of Lúthien's chamber, flattening his ears at the sounds of their heated bickering.

"What am I going to do with you?" Celegorm stepped before her, shaking his head with some amusement. "Trying to escape, Lúthien?"

"But of course, and I will not give up until I have succeeded!" Lúthien answered.

"I gave you clear warning and I have already restricted your area. What must I do to make you realize that I am decided about keeping you here?"

"What are you going to do if I continue to try and escape? Would you kill me, Celegorm?" she said quite rashly.

"Oh no," he answered softly. "Why would I do that?"

"You have committed such a crime before!"

"If you want my advice, Celegorm," Curufin said in Quenya, "you should put her in chains. It should have been done the moment we brought her here. That 'fire' that you talk about is fierce, and I am usually the one that has to deal with her."

"And you deserve everything you get!" Lúthien snickered in the same language and then changed to her native dialect. "And you are one of very short memory, Prince Curufin."

"Locking her up might also put a restrain on that tongue of hers."

"Thank you, Curufin. I appreciate the advice, but I will decide how best to deal with this matter on my own, if you do not mind."

"That would be a pleasant change."

"It may be easier if you left!"

Curufin did not move and Celegorm sighed. Then Celegorm put a hand under Lúthien's chin and studied her face. She recoiled at the touch.

"No bruises," he muttered. "Good. I am sorry Curufin hit you. It shall never happen again. You have my guarantee."

"As for that, I ask that he keep his distance from me from now on!" Lúthien said, giving Curufin a dark look.

"Gladly," he replied.

"You cannot keep me locked up here forever, and you know it, Celegorm," Lúthien said gently, and it was the first time she had lowered her voice. "You would not keep me here."

"I have the power."

"Then shackle me!" Lúthien laughed at him. "Go on, shackle me! The Noldor would turn on you in an instant, and you know it! I also have my own power, and I can escape. If you truly knew my lineage, you would know that I have more power than you might imagine. My Father is powerful as well. I know that he must have sent out many Elves to look for me, and once they find out that you are keeping me here, there shall be hell to pay!"

"Your father already knows that you are here. I sent messengers to Thingol asking for your hand in marriage ages ago, and he gave me a reply."

Lúthien tossed back her head and laughed, "I am already betrothed to another, thank you."

"It is no laughing matter," Celegorm said gravely, turning to face her. "Your father wishes that I return you, but I cannot do that. There are many reasons why, and when you hear those reasons and the consequences of releasing you, you will consent to a marriage."

All humor left her, and she said, "I would never marry you! You are a liar and a traitor to your own king. You are no better than Morgoth himself!"

"I never lied to you."

"What is your interpretation of a lie, Celegorm? Allow me to see it from your perspective. Humor me!"

"You know that you could have never faced Sauron-"

"You promised me you would help me before. And you lied! You lied, and what a foul lie! You gave me naught but false hope!"

"I did so at the price of your life."

"And it was also a perfect excuse for you to keep me here," she answered sarcastically. "To work to your advantage."

Lúthien was being fearless, but she was also putting herself into peril. Even Celegorm had a breaking point. He seized Lúthien roughly. Then Huan sprang forward with a growl and bit Celegorm's outstretched hand. He was astonished. Never in all their years of companionship had Huan ever sank his teeth into his flesh. Then Celegorm struck back. Huan yelped from the pain and began licking his snout, which had suffered the blow the worst.

"Celegorm!" Lúthien shouted, outraged. "When did you become so cruel?"

"The beast must learn his place."

Huan backed out of the doorway, but once Celegorm's back was turned, he sat down again in his original place

"Is it your own desire to be locked away?"

"You do not have the fortitude to do it."

"Very well. I feared I would have to do this, but I cannot bear the responsibility. You brought it upon yourself, after all."

Lúthien had spent her days in a prison of all forms. Huan almost burst into the room, baying as harshly as he could at his master, wishing that he could bite him, but he hesitated, not daring to do so for a second time.

"Guards, the Princess is to be restricted to her bower until the wedding."

"One of these days, Celegorm," Lúthien said with a scowl, "you will be at my mercy, and I shall judge you more fairly."

Celegorm stooped to kiss her, but she recoiled.

"Do not provoke me!" she hissed. "I swear that if you were to lay one finger on me, I would have you singing soprano for a week! My Father will never approve of your request. Is that why you told him you had found me at all? Were you trying to earn my Father's gratitude for recapturing me?"

"I was simply trying to save you!"

"Well, whatever you call it, it will not matter to my Father. He always hated your beloved Fëanor, and he does not have very much love for his sons either. What was his reply?"

"Thingol's answer is not necessary, Lúthien. The wedding will take place soon."

"What! Let me see the letter!"

"Your father did not betray you. He refused me, but I am a prince, and a powerful one at that."

"You think that will intimidate my Father who is lord and king of Doriath? His realm is a haven from all threat. You may be powerful, but I know where that power comes from," Lúthien said grimly. "You think I do not know the tales of your deeds? As an Elvin-child, I learned of the warrior-sons and Fëanor in the days of his glory. Your power comes from battle, Celegorm. Might alone cannot win against my people."

"You misunderstand me. Listen to my logic. If you were to become my wife, I promise you, you would be well cared for. In Doriath your beauty is famous, and it shall be the same here."

"And then you would depart for battle. I would be left alone with your seed," Lúthien was unimpressed. "And when the time comes, you shall have him fostered to become a great ambitious warrior like you. That is not a good enough reason for my Father and certainly not for me."

"If there were one worthy of you, Lúthien, it would be me. I am Celegorm the fair, high prince of the Noldor, and you are Lúthien the fair, heiress of the throne of the Sindar. And you cannot deny that our union would unite all of Middle-Earth."

Now Lúthien was silent and could think of nothing to say. What Celegorm was saying was all too true. It did seem like a perfect match, and the Noldor and the Sindar would become kin. Celegorm noticed that Lúthien understood, and he knelt beside her and spoke again, looking her in the eye.

"Unity. Do you know what that word means to our race, Lúthien?"

"Peace."

"No. It means more than that. It means many, many things more than that. If you and I were to link the chains needed between the Noldor and the Sindar, than all the people would become one and more powerful than they could be standing alone. Tell me you do not want that for your people. The ever-increasing mortals would no longer choke us. They live, and they increase. Men will soon replace our people. Only a few years ago, mortals could only be found in the Wild, a lost and barbaric people. They lived in huts and spoke unintelligible languages. But now, they speak Elvin-tongues, and they are seen in lands all about Middle-Earth. Beren smuggled his way into Doriath, a land thought untouchable by mortal hands!"

"Men are simply our younger brothers! They are a noble race; you have no right to judge them!" Lúthien said defensively.

"You know absolutely nothing of the ways of Man! I have dwelt in Nargothrond for many years, and during those years, I have had to tolerate their race. I have seen how they really live. They are like the flame of a candle, controlled only by their emotions and their desires, bringing misery upon themselves. They are corrupt and frivolous. They wed young, and then their men go off to reckless war with each other for riches and the spoils of land and are slain, leaving the mothers alone with children that they cannot take care of and never wanted in the first place. It is a wonder that their race has lasted this long! They multiply, and they multiply, faster than they can manage despite their sickly nature. And it is a common thing for a man to put aside his wife. Oh yes, it is true, Lúthien. They only need a small excuse to abandon their sacred vows. And even if they are married, they still cannot keep to one bed!

"You see, Lúthien, mortals do not love as the Eldar love. I am not quite sure they are capable of it. They get a rise from a pretty girl and when that fleeting passion has passed, they move on to the next one, and the next one, resulting in more and more bastard children. You are not a common woman, however. Any man would desire you, no man would resist, but once Beren has gotten you with child, you will not be the maiden you were. He will take a momentary interest in the child, perhaps, and that will be the last you see of him."

"I do not believe you," she said at last.

"Of course you do not, but if you should ever find Beren, ask him of this, and he will tell you that I speak the truth. And then what will you do when the first gray hairs sprout from his head?"

"I know that ageing is a part of mortality. It does not repulse me."

"You have not seen an aged mortal."

"I do not believe your lies and I do not care to listen to them anymore!"

"And I suppose that you care not either for your own kin," Celegorm began again. "The Noldor and the Sindar were once allies. Our genealogies are the same. Together, we could not only stamp out the nuisance that Man has become, but we may finally accomplish the one thing we have been yearning for: The Fall of Angband."

"The Fall of Angband?" Lúthien made plain her disbelief. "I see! So once you have all the Elf-Kingdoms under your dominance, you purpose to start a war of ultimate good and evil. You would win back the Silmarils by force and bring peace with a sword! You would be the savior that we have long looked for. Then you would take the Silmarils as well as Morgoth's place and become as corrupt as he! You are truly ambitious! Now let me shed some light on you, and you shall hear the truth at last! That is not how it shall be. Morgoth cannot be destroyed by the Elves alone or defeated with a front on attack! And the Silmarils are damned! They are a curse to the Elves, and you cannot win them."

"We would have a better chance of success than a mortal and a young She-Elf alone," Celegorm said dryly. "We would win back the Silmarils, for they are the reason why my people left Valinor: To gain them back and take revenge on our Enemy. I would then return to Valinor by the Straight Road and beg for my own salvation. And you would be rewarded as well. You would become princess of the Noldor, the Sindar, and the Teleri. You would also be my princess, and soon, a queen. You could be the key to bringing all the might of the Elf-Kingdoms together. You and I might rule all of Middle-Earth."

"I have no interest in your aspirations. I do not wish to be queen," Lúthien answered. "I do not wish to be your princess. Nor do I want to become your pawn to gain power, nor your tool to win great alliances! I shall have no part in these matters. Is that what you want from me?"

Celegorm sighed and shook his head. "I want you. I have heard that every young bachelor in Doriath has had his heart set on you. You have a hundred suitors, but Thingol spurned them all. Your adolescent years must have been difficult. Boys were chasing you wherever you went, and those that you showed affection for would never be."

"It was not difficult. Who says I enjoyed being chased?"

"I could make you happy here."

"But you must understand that I left my home where once I was happy. My own loved ones betrayed me. I traveled all this way and imperiled my life. It is for one reason."

"Beren!" Celegorm struggled not to lose his temper. "Mortals die every day! There is no reason to get all upset about it!"

These words were so cruel that Lúthien would have sprung at the prince, but she stared at him with a piercing glance.

"I love you, Lúthien. Does that mean nothing?"

"It has done me nothing but ill!"

"Whether you feel anything for me or not now does not matter. You may grow to love me in time."

Celegorm put his hand on her cheek. She glared at him and turned her face away with a great look of hate and disgust.

"Do not touch me. Did I not give you a clear warning before?"

"I wish you would at least give me a chance."

"You could never give me happiness! You guileful, ambitious monster! Is there nothing that will melt the ice in your veins?"

"Tell me! Is it possible for love to grow between us?"

"I doubt now that you could even regain my friendship. I have lost all my respect for you. Neither could you ever offer me the happiness that Beren and I shared. Beren and I have a bond that is stronger and more powerful than the threat of Morgoth and all the peoples of the Eldar. No one can break that bond. Not my father, not Daeron, not Morgoth, and not you, Celegorm. You are a handsome and noble prince of the Noldor, I must admit that, but that does not appeal to me. My heart and my fate are bound to Beren's. Even if he were dead, it would make no difference. He is and always will be alive, for he is part of me and I am part of him."

"Your beloved Beren is dead."

"Show me his body!

"Do you know what Sauron's prisons are like? A few days there, and you lose yourself. I can guarantee you that he is dead."

"I could never love you as I love him, dead or not."

Celegorm stared into her eyes and said, "With ease, perhaps."

Suddenly, he saw how the light that danced at Lúthien's throat.

"What is that?" he demanded.

Lúthien tucked the Ring of Barahir inside her bosom again and did not answer. Celegorm had never noticed the ring before, but he knew that no ordinary thing could absorb and give off such light. He began walking towards her with a demanding look upon his face. She rose and went for the door, but he was not far behind her. He leaped and barred her way, then seized her by the throat. She protested, but he drew out the ring. He recognized it at once as the ring that King Finrod had given to Barahir and realized that Beren must have given the ring to her in troth, and he held it aloft.

"Did Beren give this to you as a memento before he set out upon his Quest for Death? How sweet."

Then he tore the ring from its chain.

"Beren gave this to you in engagement?"

"It does not matter."

"It does matter."

"Give it back. That is mine."

"If I must cut him from your heart, I shall."

"You have stripped me of everything! Must you take the last thing I hold dear? I wish I had never lain eyes on you!"

He locked her within the room again, taking the ring with him. Lúthien was crushed and begged him to give it back, but Celegorm would not yield. That ring had been the only thing she possessed that Beren had given her, and it was destined to be their wedding ring, if the day were ever to come. Lúthien was not allowed to leave her room that day.

Huan rushed up behind Celegorm and followed at his master's heels and barked.

"So, you have the rashness to speak to me after biting me?"

Huan growled.

"Perhaps you are right. Maybe I did deserve it, but as for your question: I would never throw Lúthien in a dungeon."

Huan barked.

"Beren is dead," Celegorm said flatly.

Huan shook his head.

"You think he is alive? After all this time! That Man had set out to steal one of our Silmarils. Our heirlooms! He was not a hero. He was nothing more than a common thief."

Huan snarled again.

"You will not allow me to keep her here? Ha! I have saved Lúthien from the power of Morgoth and more. I know she would fall into darkness at the sight of Beren's dead body. Remember, you were given to me to serve me. What would Oromë do if he knew you had become unfaithful to the one he gave you to? You must know that it was I that saved you from death years ago. I do not understand why you would suddenly turn on me now. You should be congratulating me because I am taking myself a wife."

Huan glared at his master and snarled.

"A loveless wife? You may be right, but I suppose that I should thank you."

He cocked his head.

Celegorm sweetened his voice. "Did you forget? It was you that brought Lúthien to me. Thank you."

Huan could not answer this. He was struck with a terrible blow by these words. He knew now that it was he that had found Lúthien, and when he had heard that she wished for aid, he had taken her before Celegorm and he had betrayed her. Now Huan was torn with guilt. But this angered him all the more, and Celegorm, seeing that he had done this, laughed! Huan growled again and barred his teeth. His hair stood up on end, and he trembled with anger. Not even this daunted Celegorm, and he laughed all the more.

At last, Huan gained control over himself, and he left his master. Instead, he laid himself down at Lúthien's door. He heard soft sounds coming from inside the room and pressed his ear against it. Lúthien was weeping.

Huan lay by Lúthien's door at night, despite his misgivings. He was filled with great remorse at her captivity. At first, Lúthien trusted him no more than she had trusted her previous guards or handmaids. She knew that, as Celegorm's most faithful servant, Huan was no more than the eyes and ears of the prince and would pass on whatever information he could to his master, and Lúthien spent much of her time trying to find a way out of Nargothrond. But Huan saw that she was mistrusting and could not blame her. He was determined to earn her trust.

Huan went into his master's chambers and retrieved the Ring of Barahir, and Celegorm did not know of this. Then he went to Lúthien's door and began scratching at it to be allowed in. Lúthien disregarded him for a long while. Huan scratched away and began to whimper.

"Go away!" Lúthien shouted at last, near frantic. "You have been scratching at my door for near an hour now! Leave me alone and go back to your Master!"

Huan let out a low, mournful howl in answer and scratched at the door again.

Lúthien surrendered and opened her door, looking greatly overwhelmed.

"The door is open, my lord Huan," she said sarcastically. "Come on in! You are most welcome!"

Huan whimpered and then dropped something from his mouth at her feet. Lúthien was puzzled, and Huan entered the room and curled up by the fire. Lúthien ignored him and picked up the thing from the ground and saw that it was the Ring of Barahir. Then she gasped and stared at Huan with found wonder. She sat down by the Wolf-Hound and stroked him.

"Thank you," she whispered, setting the ring about her neck again. "You are faithful to your Master, but I see you also have a kind heart."

Huan soaked up the warmth of her touch and let out a growl of content.

This deed broke the ice in Lúthien's heart towards the hound, and her loneliness became unbearable. She began to speak to Huan as though he were humanoid and not just a dog. He could not talk back. Despite this, friendship blossomed between them so much so that Lúthien invited Huan into her quarters often so that he might lie by the fire and share a few stripes of her morning bacon and much of her evening chicken. She spoke to him of Doriath, her mother and her overbearing father, of Daeron and her other kin. Mostly, she spoke of Beren and her fears that he was dead. She told him many tales about Beren in her loneliness, for her thoughts were always of Beren, and Huan began to pity her. He also began to admire the Man she spoke of. He had heard his name before then and had even had a glance of him in Nargothrond, but now he knew so much more of him and respected him.

"He was, no. I must not say was. He is a great man and a great warrior. He has slain a great number of Orcs, and many other foul servants of Morgoth. He survived the Pass of Nan Dungortheb and stood upon the very mountains of Gorgoroth. He eluded many traps, a feat his kin could not do, unfortunately. That is why he is the last of his House, an exiled lord, but a prince nonetheless. His home is the wilderness, his friends the good beasts of the forests. He is the best of hunters, but he does not hunt any creature that does not love Morgoth. He is an Elf-friend, a vassal of King Finrod, a hero of battle, and loyal and true to his words. He is fearless, but not heartless. He is an avenger of the night. He is prideful. He is often reckless, and secretly desires his own destruction. He is torn by imagined guilt and tormented with remorse. He questions the divine, loves them and hates them, all at once. He seeks beauty but believes he does not deserve it. He is a clumsy dancer; sometimes slow of speech as well. But his eyes are bright, his laugh is lustrous, and his touch warm and gentle. He is mortal, and one day he must die… But I love him. It is not his time to die. He is no ordinary mortal. Perhaps I can find a way to keep him alive…"

Huan whimpered. No mortal could cheat death, and even Lúthien knew that.

"It has been so long…" Lúthien began to rock herself. "What have they done to him? He must be suffering. I must go to him, but how? Even recovering his cold body would be better than nothing, better than not knowing. He cannot die! What if he found a way to escape on his own? Yes! Perhaps he is free!"

She said many such things. One moment she lamented that Beren must be dead, the next she was certain that he was alive. She hardly touched her food anymore, even ignoring her usually large quantity of wines. She spoke only to Huan, her silent witness and guardian.

"Oh, Huan," she said, her voice breaking. "What evil does your lord possess to ignore my tears and my distress? Hounds cherished and loved Barahir. When Beren was friendless in the North, when he was an outlaw, he had friends with fur and feathered wings, and among the spirits that in stone in mountains old and wastes still dwell. But now no Elf nor Man, none save the child of Melian remembers him who fought Morgoth and never was brought to thralldom."

He watched her bundle up the kindling and provide a single spark for the fire. She stroked the fire with the tongs and watched the fire blaze with a gaze lost in thought. Huan desperately wanted to speak to her, for he saw her obvious loneliness, but he threw off the heavy blanket easily and nuzzled Lúthien with his snout. She gave a thin smile, though tears were in her eyes. She hugged him tightly, her tears dampening his fur coat, but he did not mind. Usually he only allowed Celegorm to touch him, but he found he liked Lúthien's touch. He liked her arms about his neck, her soft hair in his face, and her scent, unlike any perfume, permeated his nostrils. It was sweet and pleasant. He licked at her tears, trying to comfort her. She scratched him behind the ears.

"I wish there were some way that we could communicate better," she said with a sigh.

Huan could say nothing, of course, and soon he fell asleep to the sound of Lúthien's voice, though he was not asleep, for Huan did not sleep by night or day. For he was not truly a dog, but a pure soul in a beast's body. He cleared his head so that all was quiet, and there was a peace and quiet in the room. And he let his mind wander from the room, and he dreamed, though he was awake.

He found himself far away from Nargothrond in fact, and he looked about him and saw that he was in a forest such as he had only imagined. He was running upon the grass and letting out great howls like a mighty horn, and he had a strange light in his eyes so that Huan was amazed at himself. He knew suddenly that this was no dream. He was being warned, and Huan focused all his inner-self upon this vision.

Huan saw that he was not alone, but was running between four horses. Behind him were two Elves, fair and fell to look upon, and they were clothed in hunters' fashion with green cloaks. They held their long bows in their hands with arrows already drawn to the string. They were Elvin-lords. On Huan's left rode an Elf that was in no doubt a mighty Elvin-king. He had a youthful appearance, but his hair was silver, and he was clothed in gray and silver, and was taller than any Child of Ilúvatar. Huan recognized him as the Gray-mantle, mightiest king of all Beleriand.

But Huan's eyes were drawn to the one on his right: A figure who was clothed in mail of dwarf-make, and he bore a slung bow over his shoulder that was not fashioned by Dwarves or Elves. At his belt was a sword in its scabbard, and that scabbard was wrought with magic symbols. It was as though he was going into war, and he wore also a fur-lined cloak, and a hood was kept over his face. But Huan could see his eyes, which were bright and keen.

At first, Huan thought that this was another Elf, but he threw back his hood, and Huan saw that he was not as white as the Elves that he rode with, nor did he have the characteristic ears of the Elves. He was no Elf, but a Man, and he held a more noble power in him even than the Gray-mantle and was fairer to look upon than the Elvin-lords. To Huan, he was no more than a boy, yet he rode his steed with skill, and by the look in his eyes, Huan could tell the tale of many, many years of horror and grief that made him seem far older than his age.

And Huan heard Lúthien, as she described Beren, "He is tall for most mortal men, and he is as beautiful as any Elf. He has dark hair, hair as dark as the night, but his eyes are bright and piercing with light that is as sharp and captivating as the stars. They are gray, and they can be frightening or alluring. He is a boy with the tale of no more or less than twenty and four, but when he speaks, he seems to be centuries old. He speaks with wisdom, and he is altogether a mystery. Men and Elves would flock to his banner if he was to ride into battle merely for their love of him, and I speak with the voice of experience: With a first glance, all love him."

Celegorm came to Lúthien's door the next evening and knocked. It opened, but it was only a servant.

"Where is the Princess?" Celegorm demanded.

"I ordered her from her room. She refuses to eat, my lord. I am concerned about the Princess, and I thought if she was allowed out of her chamber, she might recover somewhat."

Celegorm swept back his cloak and frowned. "Did you not know that there is a feast being held in her honor tonight and I was going to allow her from her bower this evening?"

"Of course, but she refuses to be made into a spectacle. May I be permitted to say something, my lord?"

"No, I have not the time for your opinions! You should not even be speaking to Lúthien, let alone going over my head and letting her run about the Caves!" Celegorm snapped. "Get out of my sight!"

When he returned about an hour later, there came creeping silently behind him, unnoticed and for the moment forgotten, Huan the Wolf-Hound. They came into Lúthien's chambers, and Huan lay by the door.

Celegorm found her sitting at the table in her constricted chamber. She had grown tired of having no place to set her plates other than her bed. Celegorm had provided her with a small oak table polished red and given her several cushioned chairs. Celegorm was with her as often as he could manage, though she tried to avoid him at all costs. He showered her with gifts, treated her to candlelit dinners, all in some misguided attempt to seduce her. She refused to play along. She was dressed in rich array; clothed in white with a gold mantle. Celegorm was hopelessly under the spell of her beauty, so he found himself smiling and forgot his wrath. There was a full plate before her of the best fare, but she had not touched any of it. Celegorm sat down in the chair across from her. She suddenly began laughing softly to herself.

"I do not think a grown lady and one of such dignity would need supervising to be sure that she eats, but you must eat. Lúthien, you should be eating at the feast with the lords of the Caves."

"You and your brother, you mean?"

"Yes."

"I shall do nothing of the sort."

"You are my guest!"

"I am your prisoner is what you mean!"

Celegorm shook his head, "You are carrying on badly. How much wine have you had?"

She raised her glass to her lips and drained it. Then she tossed it at the fireplace. The glass shattered.

"You have gone and exhausted the bottle and made yourself tipsy, eh?" Celegorm said with disapprobation.

"Ah, yes," she chuckled and spoke rather fast, considering how much she had drank. "I have never been drunk before, you know. It is wonderful to be intoxicated!"

"How much wine have you had and which idiot gave you that?"

"One of your servants," she answered and laughed.

"You should stop drinking and eat something, Lúthien. You have not touched a morsel of food for days!"

She stared coldly at him, and then she splayed her hand against her food.

"There! I touched it!" she said defiantly.

Celegorm's face remained expressionless. "Why must you behave like this?"

"You kidnapped me, you treacherous bastard! I am your prisoner! How should I act? Should I be warm to my captors?"

"And what would you have me do? Have I locked you in the dungeons? Are there chains about your hands and shackles upon your feet? Have I locked you up in a tree house as your father did? What do you hope to gain by pursuing this mortal that you are so madly in love with?"

"I hope to find him, to save him. The night that we met, all thoughts were driven from me. They were replaced with an image of a house far from the Caves or from the cities of Men. A house set in the tranquil woods greener than any I have ever seen. There were rivers all about it with a window facing the West. There was only he and I. I must find him!"

"How do you hope to accomplish this if you starve first?"

"I have no devotion to you or your commands!"

"I do not ask for any sort of devotion, only your obedience," Celegorm answered.

"And that is all you shall have, if I choose to give you even that!"

"You know, I could force the food down your throat. I could force you to do many things. But I am not going to."

"Should I be grateful?"

"You do not need to love me, but I shall not be ignored."

Lúthien paused, and then she became very serious. "They say that the more drunk you become, the more your senses are clouded, but I have discovered that if you drink just enough, it does exactly the opposite! It makes everything terribly clear! And what I have also discovered is that you would have me and come hell or high waters, you shall have me! You will never let me go willingly, will you? Even if it means war between the Noldor and the Sindar. I know that my father did not lie in his messages. He will fight for me unless I convince him that I am here willingly."

"What are you saying?"

"I am saying that I have no choice," Lúthien looked Celegorm in the eye. "I will wed you to prevent bloodshed. I will even provide you a legitimate heir if you require it. I will write to my father and tell him to disband his army. I will lie for the first time in my life. You managed it well. I will learn easily enough."

Celegorm was astonished, "What of Beren?"

"Beren's unhappy ghost must forgive me, but I cannot allow civil war fought in my name."

The prince was pleased by her words, though he was amazed at her resolution. Perhaps she was trying to manipulate him. He rose and placed his hands upon her shoulders.

"How soon can you write to your father?" he asked.

"I can begin tonight, I suppose."

He sought to test her resolve. He pressed his lips to hers and kissed her. It was a fervent kiss, and Lúthien did not resist as he had expected. She did not quite comply with the kiss either. It seemed as though a veil passed over her eyes. They betrayed no emotion and she felt numb.

When he pulled away, she said heatedly, "Let me make one thing clear to you, prince. I have agreed to surrender myself to you, but do not ever mistake my submission for love!"

Huan left his post, but he found an idle guard to take his place. Though Huan was the hound of Valinor, and did not physically need rest very often, he was allowed it if he pleased. He then sought out his master's chambers. He had seen his master hide something there, and he had always been allowed in his master's chambers. As a puppy, Huan had slept at the foot of the young Elvin-child's bed. Now, however, Huan doubted if he would ever be welcome to walk about in his presence again.

Celegorm was not there, but Curufin and his son were. The hound remained at the door, listening to the younger brother reprimanding his son, Celebrimbor.

"I cannot believe that my own son would be such a fool! How could you do such a thing?"

"Father, you and my uncle believe that you have the trust of the people, but I have heard their talk. They say that you two are determined to start a war and that you are holding the Princess hostage rather than as a guest. From what I have seen, I must agree with them."

"What of our Oath?"

"I did not swear my soul to my grandfather's cause!" the youth argued. "I was but a babe when Fëanor was consumed by his own fiery spirit! Besides, I will have nothing to do with him or his legacy!"

"He was your grandsire!"

"May he rest in peace and leave the living in peace!"

"You are an ungrateful fool to say that! If you ever interfere in my affairs again, I will be forced to disown you!"

Celebrimbor was deathly silent for a moment. Then he rose and stormed from the room. Curufin sighed and went after him. Only when they were gone and Huan traced no suspicious scents did he enter. He searched the room, nose quivering in the air, searching for a familiar, sweet scent as he wondered at the altercation he had just heard.

So Celegorm's own nephew was the one that had tried to set Lúthien free? It was an encouraging thought. He was not alone. Perhaps Huan was doing the right thing for a change. All these years he had obeyed only his master without question or regard for himself or others. The Valar had indeed given him to Celegorm just as he had said. He followed him into Exile, even though he knew it meant angering the Valar.

Huan recalled that as soon as Celegorm received him, he began learning his own speech. The little boy had always wished to be able to speak to his animals, and he loved the privilege. He had been a playful boy, and never before now had he raised his voice in anger to Huan. As a pup, he followed Celegorm around wherever he went, and the royal prince was never seen anywhere without Huan. By the time both hound and Elf had grown up, Celegorm had taught Huan what obedience was and began bringing him out on hunts with the other hounds. That was the day he met his first Warg, one of Morgoth's that had wandered into Valinor.

He had been out hunting for the usual game: Wild boar, deer, pheasants, and other birds when he caught up a strange scent. It was not at all like his usual prey. It was not even a fox or badger. It was something different. So, curious, he went out searching for it, straying away from the hunt and ordering for the other hounds to keep up with the horn blowers and his prince. He followed the scent until he reached a burrow. Inside were four, tiny creatures. They were excited to meet him, and they were as playful as any pup, but they were not dogs, Huan knew. However, ignoring their strange scent, he played with them. The mother returned. She saw Huan and snarled. She rounded up her pups. Then she called her mate, who was not a mere wolf but a Warg. They turned on Huan, leaving him limp and bloody.

Celegorm had found him. Huan swore that the young prince went pale, and he rushed him to the house of healing himself. In that way, he saved Huan's life. While he stayed in the House of Healing, Celegorm would visit him and speak soothing words. Then he set out with his other hounds and pursued the wolf. The next time Celegorm came to see Huan, he told him that the Warg, his mate, and her pups were now dead. Huan was sorry for the pups. They had seemed quite harmless, but Celegorm explained that they were Warg pups and surely bore the taint of Morgoth. Then Celegorm explained to Huan what Wargs were. They were once no more than the cousins of dogs, wolves, only wilder. Orcs were often their masters, and many wolves were brought to Morgoth in later days, and he bred them with monsters and demons, transforming them into terrible werewolves, stronger than Men or Elves and most horrifying to behold.

They had been twisted into servants of Morgoth since the darkness had first fallen upon Arda.

Wargs came in several forms, the four legged and the two legged. Those that walked on two legs were werewolves and were not at all Men that grew hair at night when the moon was full, according to the legends that survived from those ancient times into the tales that are told in the Sixth Age. They began as wolves that were fed the blood of their master to make them loyal as well the blood of Elves and Men. Their master was often a necromancer or sorcerer that would summon an evil spirit to take over the body of the wolf and merge with it to create a werewolf. The full moon had nothing to do with their transformations. They made one great transformation and could devour their victims whole because they were so large. Only a very skilled hunter or Maia with equal powers could kill these werewolves or put the spirit within them at rest. Hounds, such as Huan, were also an option to be rid of these beasts. Outside of Valinor, they were frequently the only option.

And so Celegorm began training him to hunt Wargs. It started with his fellow hounds. Once he had learned to bring down three hounds at once, Huan and Celegorm joined hunting parties again, but this time, it was not a hunt meant to bring home a deer or bird. It was strictly for his training, and as soon as Huan could take down many wolves at once, he was brought before his first werewolf.

Werewolves were horrifying creatures. Their fangs were long, and their eyes were not their own. They had arms and legs like a human, but they were much too large and hairy for such a generous classification. They could speak, and this werewolf mocked Huan. But Huan completed his training and learned to fight and destroy four werewolves at once. Celegorm was very proud of Huan and took to bragging. Huan never had a problem with Wargs again, and Valinor was free of such a pestilence. Every wolf that belonged to Morgoth shivered at his name, and all werewolves howled with rage. And even after Huan and Celegorm went into exile, he was still renowned and glorified for such skills. Doriath had the Girdle of Melian, Gondolin its unassailable walls, and Nargothrond had Huan the Hound of Valinor.

Now Huan, snapping out of his memories, began having second thoughts. Should he really sacrifice his love for his master now? Could Celegorm ever forgive him? What if Lúthien did become a captive of Sauron?

He whimpered, remembering the terrible price he had paid to remain with Celegorm. Though Huan had slain no one at the Havens, leaving the shores of Valinor was self-imposed exile and showed that he tolerated his master's sins. He could have returned to Oromë, and Celegorm would never have thought less of him. But Huan could never dream of life without his master then and it was still hard to imagine now. He made his choice to remain faithful and true to Celegorm and damned himself. Mandos appeared to the Noldor, speaking of Doom and Repentance, of Sin and Punishment. The Noldor were cursed for leaving Valinor and for the slaughter of the Teleri and the theft and destruction of their ships. Mandos was terrible to behold in his wrath. Everyone quaked with fear at the very sound of his voice, the Judge of the Netherworld and all souls. Each person would pay the price. For favoring his earthly master, Huan would wander the earth, slaying Morgoth's wolves until the day he encountered the mightiest of all wolves, and that would be the death of him.

In those early days, Huan had rarely given a thought to Mandos' prophesy. He was little more than a pup, and he felt it was his duty never to abandon his master. He loved Celegorm, and he held Fëanor in high esteem. He was proud that they could not be called cowards. But as the years passed, doubt overshadowed his dreams. He regretted the Kinslaying, and he fought many wolves in his long life span. Every time he faced a wolf, he could not help but wonder if this would be his last battle and did he deserve such a death?

Huan caught the scent and nuzzled open a chest in Celegorm's far corner. He rummaged through the ordinary clothing until he came upon a shadowy cloak. He lifted it gently into his mouth. He would not allow another Kinslaying to take place. He would not face his death unprepared and unrepentant. He would not allow Lúthien to suffer any more. He had brought her to Celegorm and now he would deliver her from his imprisonment. Celegorm had been deceitful. He had betrayed Lúthien; as though she had not already gone through enough trials with her father and Daeron the minstrel at home in Menegroth. He had betrayed the Valar long ago, following in the footsteps of his father blindly. Therefore, Huan had every right to do as his heart told him. No command of Celegorm's could overrule that.

At last, Huan took Lúthien's spellbound cloak and crept through the tunnels, embracing the shadows and shunning every pair of eyes. No one must see him. The advantage was that no one was looking for him, so he was able to reach Lúthien's quarters unseen. He hid the cloak, and then confronted the present guard. When he barked, the Elf knew he could retire and allow the Wolf-Hound to keep the Princess safe. Then Huan retrieved the cloak and scratched at Lúthien's door. She allowed him inside, greeting him absent-mindedly. She was writing a letter, to Huan's horror, to her father. She only needed her seal and signature to finish. Huan dropped the cloak, snatched the parchment, and began ripping it to shreds.

"Huan, what on earth are you doing!"

Huan thought long and hard. Finally, he opened his mouth and spoke to her, knowing he only had two more opportunities to speak again now, but he thought his first was noble enough.

"Have you given up so quickly, Lúthien? Take your cloak, sweet maiden, and I shall lead you forth from your prison."

Lúthien was incredulous. For a moment she was speechless. His voice was deep and gruff. He could only raise it a little above a whisper, and so she wondered if she had merely mistaken a growl for words.

At last, she said, "You are talking! But how? Does Celegorm know of your plans or that you can speak?"

"The Valar allowed me to do so. Celegorm knows nothing, but I do not have very much longer to speak with words. Therefore, we must be swift. Please, do not tarry. I know of a secret passageway: A tunnel."

She gaped at him, and he saw the doubt in her eyes.

"Lúthien, you can trust me. I am not Celegorm. I assure you: This passageway is secret. I am not sure if even my master knows of it. But first, I must know for certain that I have your absolute trust."

She clutched the Ring of Barahir that was about her throat once again and smiled. "I trust you, Huan."

A rush of love and gratitude came at those words and Huan struggled to maintain the levity in his voice that now flowed with emotion. It was truly amazing how much emotion could be put forth into the voice.

"Good. That is very good. Now here is your cloak. Go on. Take it! As we walk, I shall give you council. Remember to be as quiet as possible. The Caves echo in the deep."

"No need to worry about that," Lúthien said. She was so light of step she could walk noiselessly even without effort. "What will become of you when Celegorm and Curufin discover that I am gone in the morning?"

"I will think of something."

Lúthien fastened her cloak about her again while Huan paced nervously, speaking as fast as he could.

"Little counsel can I give you," he said, "save that you should go with all the speed you may back to the halls of your father. Celegorm cannot pursue you into Doriath unless they allowed him through the Girdle."

"That I will never do while Beren yet lives, forgotten by all those of Middle-Earth."

"I thought that you would give such an answer," Huan sighed. "But if you are willing to go onto this mad quest, for impossible it seems-"

"Seems," Lúthien put the emphasis on the word that had been lacking. "Nothing is impossible. The Valar sent me a vision that inspired my escape from Doriath, and they are helping me escape once again through you. Why would they not deliver me to Beren as well?"

"Impossible though it may seem, I will not stop you."

"Are there any guards around?"

Huan halted and answered, "There will be guards everywhere, but I have the skill and the knowledge needed to get around them. I know all the secrets of Nargothrond. I will lead you to the passage and beyond. I know the Wilderness well, and it is teeming with Orcs, wolves, and other things. Therefore, I will be your guide and guard as my master promised he would be. I must redeem him even if he curses my name and labels me a traitor afterwards. I can only hope that he will come to his senses."

"You do not have to come with me," Lúthien told him. "My freedom is enough."

"But what of Beren and Finrod?" Huan shook his head. "And what of you? I cannot allow you to leave alone and unaided. You have Sauron and his minions to contend with. There is another, more mundane reason. How are you to get to Sauron's Isle? You do not have a horse, and we have to hurry! Celegorm will not pursue you on foot!"

"I could steal a horse. Thalion will suit me well if I could only find where he is being stalled."

"It will be far away from the other horses, I assure you. It is not worth the risk and precious time would be lost. I will be your steed, Lúthien. It may seem very outlandish, and I do not often allow people pony-rides, but if we are to reach Beren and Finrod in time, you must take me as your steed. I am much swifter than any horse, and I will not cower from other beasts. You are light, and my pride can easily suffer this once. It is no dishonor to carry a Princess!"

"Thank you, Huan," Lúthien said sincerely. "I never expected such an ally or friend…"

"Say no more," Huan interrupted. "I have little time left. Listen carefully to all that I say because I cannot repeat myself."

He rushed on about the dangers they might face, the paths to avoid, and those they could be forced to take. He did not pause even to take a breath. It was a lot to take in all at once.

Finally, Huan said, "I have one last thing to say. You must not give up hope, Lúthien. I have watched you suffer, and I desperately desired to tell you that it is wrong. My master betrayed us both. But never give up hope. You will find me loyal and trustworthy, and I will remain at your side for as long as I am needed, however long that may be. I pray that Beren is still alive, and I would look upon Finrod just once more. Follow me, Lúthien!"

With that, Huan led her from her prison chamber. He moved quickly and surprisingly quiet for one of his size. They crept through the narrow passages that were so dim that Lúthien was forced to grab hold of Huan's tail to find her way. Then the small tunnel became very steep. Lúthien removed her boots and splayed her hands and toes upon the rough, uneven walls to keep from sliding. Huan struggled to climb up, whimpering each time he lost his footing and slid a few inches, his toe nails digging into stone. They must have climbed for hours as the tunnel became narrower and steeper. The air was thin and damp, and it was pitch black.

"Now more than ever, I feel like a timid mouse, squeezing through holes like this," Lúthien said bitterly. "No wonder this passage is secret. It is almost impassable! What would become of us if there was a cave-in or a fire?"

Huan whimpered in reply.

At long last, a ray of light became visible. Lúthien could smell water and hear frogs and insects. There was a pool of murky water before them and a solid stone wall. Huan did not hesitate. He dove under the water and vanished. Lúthien hesitated until Huan's head and tail reappeared. He barked and wagged his tail and she clutched it in her fingers. He dove and she followed, taking a deep breath and plunging into the bone-cold depths. She tried to open her eyes underneath the water but it was much too dark. She could see nothing. She held Huan's tail and reached out the other blindly to get a sense of where they were going. Then she realized that the wall was not solid below. She passed under it and rushed to fill her lungs with air. She felt the water break and she breathed deep as the slap of twilight's breeze brushed over her face.

Huan barked, Hurry, hurry! He was silent and could speak no more for now. But Lúthien was as eager to leave as he was, and she understood Huan well enough. She waded out of the water of the pool. They were both dripping wet. Huan stood still and made no sign as she sat upon his back and leaned to wrap her hands about his neck, feeling very foolish and very uncomfortable. Never had she ridden upon any such creature.

"The problem is," she muttered and let out a light-hearted laugh, "that I am much more accustomed to a horse!"

Without warning, Huan burst into long, running strides. Lúthien was startled and clutched her new and unusual steed in a death grip. Huan growled in minor annoyance and she immediately loosened her grip sheepishly. Then she relaxed, and the great speed became a thrill. She began to smile, and instead of burying her face in Huan's fur, she held her head high. She cast aside her hood and let out a happy cry, raising her hands in the air for a moment. What a sight they must be, the giant Wolf-Hound and the slender, cloaked maiden!

The animals in the wood looked on and listened in wonder. A single Noldoli was returning to the Caves with his game and caught a glimpse of them. A flash of silver and black, a pair of golden eyes, and another like polished silver. He dropped his evening catch and ran hell-bent for home, not quite certain what he had seen. Lúthien cackled and Huan let out a howl of delight and once again the tale of Lúthien's escape would be remembered in children's tales long after the days of yore.


	14. Chapter 14 The Isle of Sauron

Fourteen

The Isle of Sauron

It was even as the Enemy had threatened. The prisoners lay forgotten, enmeshed in a maddening darkness and tormented by the cold. From time to time in the eyeless dark two eyes would glow. The companions would hark to frightened cries, then a sound of ripping and weeping and the smell of fresh blood, but none would yield, and none would tell. The company grew smaller, until at last, only King Finrod and Beren were left. The others had been slain.

Beren awoke when he felt something brush past him in the dark. Finrod cried out in warning and he sprang away, not knowing what was happening or which way he was going. There was another cry, a wail of agony suddenly cut short. Beren lurched in that direction wielding a dagger he had made of human bone, likely one of his former companions' ribs. But the monster was too quick for him, even with a fresh kill in its jaws, and the wolf's vision was not impaired by the darkness. Beren stabbed blindly, and it vanished through some unseen exit.

"Damn you!" Beren cried in anger and frustration. "You cowardly bastard! Picking us off one by one in the dark and hiding! Come out and face me! I would rather die fighting!"

Beren despaired and wondered if he was the only one left.

"Who is left alive?" he whispered.

"It is I," Beren recognized his lord's voice.

Beren fumbled for his hand and clasped it. They had only each other now. All of their valiant companions were dead. Duro had been the last. It was almost a mercy that he was gone. By that time, he had become half mad. He had stopped eating and sleeping and whispered prayers and curses in the dark, nearly driving them mad as well. Beren and Finrod would shake him, call to him, but there was no reward for their actions. Duro seemed dead already.

Every attempt at escape had failed the company. They knew the murderous wolf must come and go somehow, but after endless hours of searching for some hidden passageway, they could find nothing, not even a chink in the ground or walls. There was not even evidence that the passageway must be opened from within the walls. They became convinced that it was a trick of sorcery. They kept watch, but that was no good. They might as well have kept their eyes closed and slept because it was so dark and fighting was futile.

Next they had tried to slaughter the beast. They gathered together against the wall and shouted and struck out at any noise. But they had no weapons, and their killer only seemed amused by their antics. They only exhausted themselves with the effort. Some of them gave up and gathered before Finrod and Beren so that the wolf could not reach them and would take the others instead.

It was of their sacrifice that Finrod was thinking of, and of Beren.

"Soon, one last wolf shall come to devour you or me," he said. "You will not be next while I yet live. I must not fail in that at least."

"No, my lord. It would be little loss if I were dead," Beren said breathlessly. "I release you from your old oath, for you have endured for me more than was ever earned. It was my father's deed that saved your life, not mine."

"You cannot release me from my oath any more than you can bring your father back."

"We also swore an oath to protect you."

"Yes, but you and your father were more like sons to me than mere vassals. The sons I never had from the maiden that I abandoned in Valinor."

There was a long silence in which Finrod sighed.

"You should tell Sauron who we are and you will spared," Beren said at last.

"Beren, you have not learned yet that the promises of Morgoth's servants are frail as breath!" Finrod answered. "You shall suffer whether he learns our names or not. Do you not remember Gorlim and how he was betrayed? Treachery is often the token that the Enemy bandies. Our torment would be unimaginable if he knew the true nature of his captives, our names and the dreadful errand."

Then suddenly they heard laughter ringing within the pit.

"True!" the voice said. "It would be little loss if he were dead, the outlaw mortal. But the king, the Elf undying, many a thing no man could suffer he may endure. When your folk learn of your captivity, they may wish to ransom you with gold and gem. Or maybe Celegorm the proud will deem a rival's prison cheap and crown himself and keep your gold. The errand I shall know before all is done. The wolf is hungry. The hour is near. Beren does not need to wait much longer to die."

Then Finrod cursed the voice, "Laugh, but you shall never have what you most desire! You may take our lives, but you shall never have our souls!"

Sauron did not answer.

Time slowly passed. Then in the gloom the two eyes glowed again, and Beren saw his death within that glow. But he was prepared, and he sat silently and did not struggle with his bonds.

"I will not have you die, Beren," Finrod told him. "Or else I would not have repaid your father. For his sake, I will guard you."

"No, Finrod! You cannot defend either one of us from that wolf! I will not have you die before me! You have your people to care for!"

"I do not have any hope for my people," Finrod answered bluntly, astonishing Beren. "The Noldor are doomed. You know that. The Kinslaying was a horrible deed, and we have yet to pay the price for that sin. You have a greater cause to be free of your captivity here, Beren. You have Tinúviel to care for, and there is hope for her still. I know what it is like to pine for a maiden. Therefore, do not hinder me!"

The wolf came and then the sound of snapping chains. Finrod shoved Beren aside and fought the wolf with his bare hands, heedless of fang or venom. There in the dark they wrestled, remorseless, snarling, teeth in flesh, fingers locked in a shaggy coat. Beren struggled with all his strength, but that was soon spent, and the light was so dim that Beren would never tell if he were grappling with the wolf or with Finrod.

At last, there came the sound of gasping and a death rattle. The wolf was dead, but Finrod was dying as well.

"And so this is how it ends, Beren," were his last words. "I have completed my oath. I am afraid that the beast bit into my breast and I am poisoned."

"Another cruel trick."

"I was doomed as are my people. But now I shall go and see my father once more. Do not mourn for me. This is my last request, Beren: I insist that you recapture the Silmaril and wed Lúthien Tinúviel. I only regret that I will not see your wedding. I have always felt a strange kinship with the sons of Bëor. You are the son I never had."

Beren was struck by the emotion in his voice and the words themselves. He could not answer. And then he realized that they had both been silent for a long while.

"Finrod! Where are you?" Beren cried in grief.

There was only silence.

"Where are you? Allow me to see your face!"

Finrod crawled beside him, and Beren reached out and took his hand with the last of his strength.

"My lord!" Beren shouted as his hand became cold. "My lord!"

"Call me not so," the broken king replied. "Call me by my name."

"Finrod…"

There came no answer from Finrod the beloved. Then Beren slipped into dark dreams, still holding his fallen king's hand, and in his dreams, he saw the face of Lúthien Tinúviel as he had on the first night he had lain eyes upon her, dancing upon the hill in Doriath, where the very air you breathe is filled with laughter and the scent of flowers. Her voice trembled across the distance and throbbed in his ears, and she was singing not a song of joy or awakening, but a song of lament.

Lúthien found herself more than satisfied with the Wolf-Hound's speed. Huan seemed to never tire or break his stride. They traveled night and day without rest. The journey was beginning to take a toll upon her, but she never once complained. She knew that speed was necessary if they intended to reach Beren and Finrod while they yet lived. She covered herself in cloak and hood and buried her face in Huan's fur and fought off sleep. But after they had traveled three nights without a pause, the rhythmic motion of Huan's strides became too much. Not even the 'waking sleep' could stop her eyes from dimming and her head to swim. She began to nod off. Huan sensed her weariness when her grip loosened upon his neck. If they went any further, she would not be able to ride anymore. She would only fall from his back. He came to a halt and Lúthien roused herself to protest.

"What? Why are we stopped? We cannot stop!" she cried and clung to him more fiercely.

The great Wolf-Hound began to shake himself forcefully. Lúthien struggled to cling onto him, but it was futile. She fell to the ground unceremoniously. Huan nuzzled her in apology but growled when she attempted to climb once more onto his back.

"What is the matter?"

He lay down to sleep.

"We cannot take a rest now! We are so close!"

Huan growled. He knew he was easily as big as she when he stood upon his hind legs, and he knocked Lúthien over with his front paws.

"Very well! I will sleep if you are going to be that stubborn! I cannot argue with you, can I? Promise me that you will wake me in no latter than an hour from now."

Huan nodded defiantly.

She set her cloak beside her and slept as Huan stood guard. She marveled at how quickly she fell asleep, and she slept for a long while. Huan was satisfied and did not sleep. He did not have to sleep. He stood guard, growling at any sound and pacing. He kept his ears pricked up to pick up every slight sound or movement, his eyes glanced around in their sockets, sharp and alert like an eagle's, and his nose remained quivering, trying to pick up any suspicious scent.

They were only a few leagues of Sauron's abode. They could see the ruined tower of Minis Tirith in the distance, but that distance felt so very near. The land itself was also a ruin, a shadow of its former self. Sauron had poisoned the waters of the lakes and rivers so that the grass no longer thrived as it had and shrubs in the waste grew black and twisted. The original trees had been fed to monstrous furnaces and cleared so that the Isle was more open for view. The trees that remained sprouted pale gray leaves; their bark was charcoal black and knobbly. Those trees seemed almost alive. Their branches waved without any wind.

The Noldor and all the native animals had fled before the initial attack upon the lands began. Anyone or anything left was destroyed if they could not serve a useful purpose to the enemy. Now only wolves, Orcs, and other such abominations roamed freely here. The Noldoli that had been left behind were set to work. The smoke of fire and other, more volatile materials clouded the heavens so that it was unusually dark. Any rain that fell burned, and any snow or sleet that fell was grayish and warm. It was no Angband yet, but the likeness was disturbing, and it angered Huan, for the place had once been beautiful. He wondered how anyone could prefer such a wasteland.

Huan suddenly heard what sounded like whispers, but he could not decide if it was voices or merely the wind. Then he smelled something foul. He took a long draught of air. He could not tell how close or how many there were, but he knew one wolf would bring many more or perhaps even a company of murdering Orcs. He would have to wake Lúthien, and they had to try to make a run for it. The scent was growing frighteningly stronger and closer, and it came from every direction now. The trees began whispering again. He fancied that he even heard mocking laughter. Lúthien stirred in her sleep and awoke

"What is it, Huan? Is it Orcs?"

He shook his head.

"Wolves?"

Huan made no sign.

Lúthien sighed and looked about frantically for her cloak, but it had disappeared into thin air.

"Oh no."

The sorceress of Thuringwethil crouched upon a parapet of the tower of Tol-in-Gaurhoth. Her bat-like wings were folded about her to protect her from light and the elements. When she covered herself at such a height, she melted into the shadows and became invisible. She dreamed of fountains of blood and awoke thirsting. She stretched her huge wings. It had finally grown dark enough to satisfy her preference. Despite the constant smog, the sun occasionally penetrated the thick clouds here and delayed her nightly vigils. In Angband she did not have to worry about sunlight. She was thirsty, and she took to the air in search of prey, hoping for something better than Orc blood for her palate.

The sorceress had been very beautiful once, born a Maia and served in the mighty Halls of Mandos in Valinor. She was handmaid to his queen, who spun constantly the web of life and death. She had been lovely with hair kissed by fire and eyes green as Aluë's emeralds. Her lips were ruby red, set in a deceptively sweet heart-shaped face. She was ambitious and had hoped to learn great secrets from Vairë, but she soon found that she never would and continued to serve as a simple handmaid grudgingly, nursing the seeds of pride and jealousy in secret. But she could not hide her malcontent from Melkor, the most powerful of all the Ainur. He sent Sauron to recruit her for his own purposes, feeding her vanities, praising her beauty and speaking of her talents. He criticized Mandos and his wife for ignoring her and promised to grant the sorceress power equal to that of her mistress, if not more. The sorceress was flattered and tempted sorely by his offers. She found the Halls of Mandos dull and gloomy and joined Melkor's hosts, unaware of the price it would cost her.

She abandoned Valinor and left behind even her name. Melkor fell from grace quickly, and his servants fell with him. Melkor became Morgoth and ruled his new kingdom upon Middle-earth with an iron fist. He favored intimidation over beauty for his servants, and so the sorceress was forced to take up a new form. She took up a terrible shape now to strike fear into friend and foe alike and gain more power thereby. The Dark Court knew her title and were apprehensive in her presence. She spoke for Melkor himself often enough and carried out his commands without question and without mercy. She would take no slight from anyone.

Her hair was a lustrous gray and all in tangles. Her skin was wrinkled as an old crone's and ghastly pale. Her nose was squashed in like a bat's, and her jaw jutted forward like an animal's muzzle. Her fangs gleamed like the ivory from the tusks of oliphants in the South and went past her chin like an ancient saber tooth's. Her hands were like claws with barbed iron nails. Her wings sprouted from her shoulders, covered in a fine pelt of russet fur, also had a single barbed claw of iron upon their edges. With these wings she traveled at high speeds and could cover herself entirely with them to utilize as a shield. The only thing that was remotely humanoid about her appearance was her eyes. They were still emerald green, but they became like pale gimlets in the dark. Her robes were dusty gray, and her voice was dry as dead leaves.

She gained the power of flight and was given a small host of her own brood to guard her, and her children were increasing in numbers swiftly as they glutted themselves upon the blood of the living and turned chosen Men and Elves into Undead as well. Her brood was much less numerous than Sauron's terrible wolves, but no less feared. Wolves could walk about in daylight and often would rip their victims to shreds. Vampires, devilish fiends, had an insatiable thirst for living blood like their cousins but could no more abide the sun than could the Orcs. But they could disguise themselves as the Children of Ilúvatar, control certain animals and gained many other deadly powers.

The sorceress needed blood to sustain herself, and though she could tolerate sunlight, her powers were drastically weakened during the day.

Her new tasks were to fly back and forth bearing Morgoth's messages and patrolling the borders of Angband. She was merely Morgoth's fetcher, and a hideous vampiress. She was Sauron's lover for a brief while, but now she despised him with her whole being. She had discovered that she had never been his first choice, but whoever he had desired refused him and his notion of power, much like Melkor had once been Varda's lover and she soon spurned him and turned to his brother Manwë and became his spouse. She lived in fear of Morgoth and his second in command, Sauron. She felt betrayed by both of them and mourned constantly for her lost beauty. She could temporarily change into her original form to lure victims, but only for a short time. She could never escape her Master, nor would she if she could. Her pride would not allow it. She would rather be a feared Messenger than a docile handmaiden.

The sorceress spotted one of her own signaling to her from below. She landed before him, curious.

"What is it?" she said harshly, folding her wings about her.

"We have intruders. I saw them with my own eyes. You see, I came down here because I was starving! You know that since the war hasn't been doing as good as usual, we do not have so many prisoners for food. I came here for a drink, expecting to catch a few toads at least. That was when I smelled that irresistible scent. The scent that drives us all."

"What was that?"

"Clean blood."

"But how can you be sure they have not fled, you idiot! Did they see you? How many were there?"

"I saw only one sweet little maid, and then there was another with her. I could barely make out his shadow. But I know they have not fled. They did not see me, and I have something of theirs. They would not leave without this precious item." Tatar drew out Lúthien's cloak. "Here is the cloak I stole from them. It caused me to drop off to sleep for a while, so be careful when you handle it."

"This cloak is made of Elvin-hair. The finest I have ever seen. But what do I care? You can deal with one trespasser well enough, can you not?"

"I caught a scent of dog. I fear that the Wolfsbane may guard the maiden. I am sure that the weaver of that cloak shall be of great service to Sauron. They must have great power. We shall be well rewarded. And we may be able to feed off them," Tatar added.

The sorceress struck Tatar, "For your insolence! Prisoners of Sauron are not fodder for fools!"

Tatar howled as blood began trickling down his face.

"What of the She-Elf? You cannot even guess who she may be? Is she guarded by a mutt only?"

"They are alone, Mistress. I know the She-Elf must be someone of importance, and she is very fair."

"Fair? Fairer than me?"

Tatar did not dare to answer, sensing his peril and still bleeding from the previous blow.

"Very well, search for them! Find them for the Master! If she is important as you say, and the Wolfsbane is with her, we shall be well rewarded indeed."

Lúthien became more apprehensive with each step. Surely they had been spotted. There could be no doubt of it. There were not very many places to hide, and they were slowly making their way to Sauron's tower. Huan's senses were heightened and he remained close by Lúthien's side. She knew that Huan would be of great help to her. Not even Celegorm and Curufin could have offered her such protection, but Lúthien was still afraid of what they now were about to face. She had never had a plan to rescue Beren, and she was beginning to doubt whether her cloak, even if it had not gone missing, would be of any use to her against all the armies and hosts of Sauron, and not to mention Sauron's own evil magics.

She would not ride Huan anymore. She wanted to walk and think. No matter how hard she tried, though, she could not come up with a single plan that might work. How could she pull this off now? How could she have waited so long to get some ideas? She was forgetting that in all of her little adventures and her struggles, she would never have been able to come up with a plan anyway. And Huan? He did not have the fanciest idea as to how they were going to get inside the tower. It was guarded by curses and hexes. But Lúthien herself was a daughter of a Maia. Could she possess the magic that was needed to break those evil spells? It could be possible.

It was certain that Lúthien was terrified, but she was also hopeful. If she managed to break through Sauron's barriers, she could again be reunited with Beren. She laughed to think of what Beren's reaction would be if she suddenly threw down a rope to him. She was eager to see his face and to feel his touch again. He was the reason why she had gone through so many dangers and snares. And looking back on the betrayal of Daeron and Celegorm, she realized that she would never have reached the tower in the first place without them. She did not know if she could ever have had the courage to leave Doriath if it had not been for Daeron. The danger of her paths was no less worse than that little tree-house her father had made for her. And if it had not been for Celegorm, Lúthien would never have had Huan on her side.

Suddenly, the wind around them began to blow hard. On that wind, the laughter of Orcs and the howling of wolves were borne. Bats flew in the air. They screeched and hissed at the intruders. Lúthien had to dodge a few of them, and Huan snapped at them, tearing their wings apart.

"Help me!" a cry rent the air. "Someone help me!"

The two unlikely companions were stunned. Was it possible that an innocent or a potential ally was nearby? Could it be a trap? In the end, they had no choice. They followed the voice.

The voice belonged to a maiden with fiery red hair dressed in rags. Two strange creatures pursued her. They looked like corpses with glowing red eyes, clawed hands, and long fangs. They moved with blinding speed and hissed like wild cats. As soon as they caught sight of Huan, they fled, leaving the maiden lying upon the ground where she remained for a while motionless. Huan did not give chase to the creatures. He would not be so foolish as to leave Lúthien behind with this stranger. If they had not already been spotted, they were certainly known now.

The maiden lifted her head and blinked at them. Her hair was in tangles and she was caked with blood and dirt. She did not appear to be armed and yet Lúthien and Huan were very hesitant to approach her.

"Who is she and why is she here?" Lúthien whispered.

Huan tucked his tail between his legs. He did not like the stranger's scent. She smelled of the creatures underneath a sweet one.

The maiden rose, eyes wide with fright and said, "Thank you! I do not know what would have become of me if you two had not come running and scared those foul things away."

"What were those things?" Lúthien asked.

"Vampires!" she said the word as though it were a curse. "The Isle is full of them and other things. Worse things."

"And what of you?"

"I am Gwendling, an escaped Noldoli thrall. My father and I once served the commander of Minis Tirith and were taken captive when it fell. We were given the task of deforesting the land. My father took that chance to slay our overseer and unlock our chains. He has labored more than I, so they caught him almost immediately. I was swifter."

"Then more will come after you."

"Mayhaps. My father was the threat and they have no lack of thralls. One mere maiden is not worth the effort of a chase. Who are you, fair lady?"

"Tinúviel," Lúthien answered with a grin, refusing to give her true name.

She had learned the hard way not to trust anyone.

"What is a pretty girl like you doing in a place like this with but a dog to look after you?"

Huan snarled in disfavor. Gwendling reached out to pet him and he snapped at her hand. Lúthien calmed him by resting a gentle hand upon his head.

"He is no ordinary dog, I assure you," she told the stranger. "And he hears and understands much. As for why we are here, I am searching for someone."

"Perhaps I would know their name?"

"I doubt it," Lúthien said curtly.

"May I join you? I will be safer with you," Gwendling pleaded.

"That is also very doubtful. You should make for Nargothrond. If you have kin there, they will keep you safe, for we cannot. I wish you good fortune. I seek a way into Minis Tirith."

That sent Gwendling into peals of laughter. Huan cocked his head in confusion. Lúthien narrowed her eyes. She would not stop laughing until they were convinced she must be mad. Huan intended to leave her behind. Lúthien quickly followed, turning her back to the maiden for but a moment, and she was suddenly grabbed from behind. The two vampires had returned. One had Lúthien in his grasp, the other had cast a net over Huan from the trees that entangled him more and more as he struggled. Lúthien squirmed and twisted.

"What have we here?" came a cackling voice, and instead of Gwendling, the vampiress of Thuringwethil stood before them. "Lúthien Princess of the Sindar!" she exclaimed. "Come to join us, or have you come seeking death?"

Lúthien was stricken with contempt. She had been warned of the vampiress. She had been Melian's greatest rival in Valinor. Before she joined with Sauron, the Maia had tried to outdo Melian in anything she could. She bragged that she was the fairest and that she was the more powerful of all the Maiar. The vampiress in turn recognized Melian's features in the Elvin-girl and doubted. Though she had claimed she was more powerful than Melian, it had been a false claim. Even with Sauron's powers joined with hers, she wondered if she was a match for the daughter of Melian. She was also immediately resentful of Lúthien's beauty.

"Be gone, she-devil!" Lúthien commanded, unafraid. "Go to Angband and warn Melkor that the Sindar is here to carry out the will of the Valar!"

The vampiress hissed, "You are but a Half-Maia! You think that you could stand against me? I am a creature of the Blessed Realm!"

"Not anymore," Lúthien said boldly. "You are cursed!"

"You are not as beautiful as me, but perhaps your blood will restore my lost looks!"

The vampiress lunged for her throat, but by that time Huan had managed to gnaw his way through the net and pounced upon her, gnashing his teeth. The fledgling released Lúthien and the other vampire in the trees dove down to assist his mistress. Huan turned upon them, tearing and ripping them apart as they cursed and screamed. Lúthien seized the sorceress by the hair, drawing out her sickle dagger. She sliced it across her throat and stepped aside. The sorceress grabbed at her gaping wound, making a choking sound as her blood bubbled forth.

Lúthien turned her face away from the gruesome sight. Huan brushed her hand, licking his chops. His muzzle and most of his coat was stained with black blood. Then he began to growl. Lúthien looked and saw that the sorceress had recovered herself. Her wound had healed miraculously.

The sorceress erupted into laughter again seeing the astonished look upon Lúthien's face and said, "I told you that I am a Maia, the most powerful and beautiful of them all!"

"You are no Maia, you are an Undead thrall of Morgoth! My blood cannot restore you, nothing can! You are nothing but an envious, vile witch!"

She scowled and Huan sprang before Lúthien, snapping his powerful jaws. The sorceress sought the sanctuary of the sky and Huan howled in frustration. The sorceress circled them and dove at them unexpectantly, scratching and flapping her wings in their faces until Huan was wild with fury and Lúthien's bones began to ache. Then the sorceress let out a terrible screech, summoning her brood. Her servants came from everywhere. Some popped out of the ground, seizing Lúthien's ankles. She hacked at the hands that clutched her, wishing she had a sword for better range. Huan was taking his fair share of them, but they would soon be overwhelmed if this kept up. There seemed to be no end to them. This sent Huan into a frenzy, and each time the vampires dove for an attack, he was there with jaws foaming.

She plans to tire us out this way, Lúthien realized. I am not sure if we can keep this up until dawn. Surely the sorceress will be weakened by the sun's rays. Even if we could hold out that long, I am not certain if we have the time. Beren and Finrod…

For some unexplainable reason, Lúthien knew that time was short. An urgency she had never known was in the pit of her stomach and an idea exploded in her brain. They could not wait for dawn, but she could create an imitation of sunlight. The sorceress was immune to weapons, but no Undead was immune to fire.

"Huan, try to keep them busy!" she commanded.

The Wolf-Hound nodded, bits of gore dripping from his jaws. Lúthien reached into their supplies and set to work. She took out a carefully wrapped vial of strange blue liquid and hesitated.

This could very well kill us all, but what other option do we have?

She added a drop to her dagger and to both tips of a broken branch. Then, careful to keep them away and whispering a prayer, she struck two flint stones together and the dagger's edge and the branch burst into blue flames. Her eyes flashed brilliantly with the blue glow.

"Huan, keep away from the fire!" Lúthien warned. "It is fickle stuff and will burn you as well as our enemies!"

He kept his distance. She swung the branch high above her head in one hand like a baton and slashed with her dagger in the other. Anything that touched these lit weapons caught aflame. The flames consumed everything. It could not be beat out and water would only amplify it. The vampires soon became nothing more than wicker fodder. In their panic and confusion, the trees caught fire. Even the grass burned. They began to flee, spreading the flames.

The sorceress shrieked with fury and attempted to seize Lúthien in her claws, but she slashed at her blurred form, narrowly missing as the sorceress backed off from the flames.

"Tear one of her wings, Huan! A moment is all I need!"

Huan sprang and caught the sorceress' wings in his jaws. The vampiress screamed and flapped her wings, struggling to free herself from the Hound's grasp. She thrust her barbed iron claw at him, and he yelped and let go as blood spilled from a wound in his leg. The sorceress crashed to the ground with an aggravated cry. She flapped her wings for momentum. Even as she fell, her wing was repairing itself. But it was not healing fast enough. Lúthien doused the remains of the blue liquid into the sorceress' face, blinding her, and cast the torch after. She was then consumed with blue flame.

Her screams were terrible. She spun about in circles, thrashing her arms, trying desperately to put out the flames. She flapped her wings at maximum speed. Lúthien avoided the flames. She still had her dagger, so no enemy dared approach, and Huan stood by her side. Soon the sorceress was reduced to ashes, and even they still burned bright blue.

Lúthien raised her dagger high and any surviving Undead fled in fear. Huan let out a warning howl and all the wolves turned tail and ran without a second glance too. Except for one. He was the sire of all Morgoth's wolves, and he wanted a good look of the hound and maiden. Huan caught his scent and growled and Lúthien saw his shape in the shadows.

"Your Mistress is vanquished! Your Master is next!" she promised him.

The wolf sank into the darkness.

When the flames had finally died, Lúthien scattered all of the ashes of the vanquished. Most of the remaining plant life had burned but she was not sorry. At least the wildfire had kept she and Huan alive. Her mother had taught her the secret and warned her that such 'magic' was dangerous and would surely be used with evil intent by the Children of Ilúvatar. One drop of the potent liquid could burn for at least an hour with little more than a spark to stimulate it. The Queen trusted only her own daughter with the sample and had told her that she would know when to use it. Once unleashed it could not be controlled. When had she ever needed it more?

To her relief, Lúthien found her shadowy cloak undamaged where the sorceress had first fell. She wrapped it about her, feeling safer. The hound and the maiden reached the bridge of Sauron's tower unopposed. Lúthien gazed up at the tower, once Finrod's. It was of Noldoli craft with smooth, even sides of gray stone. The bridge was small and narrow so that only two men could walk it side by side. The only gate, thick and heavy, was shut.

"Now, how are we going to get in?"

Huan cocked his head in answer.

"I do not think there is a way in," Lúthien said.

Huan whimpered and tugged at her sleeve and nuzzled her. He knew there had to be some way.

"The gates are held against us," Lúthien answered. "This tower once was the Noldor's, King Finrod's himself. Minas Tirith it was named, and now it is Tol-in-Gaurhoth."

Huan growled.

"We cannot get in ourselves. It would require a strong battering ram and men to use it. We would need more men to kill the defenders. The gate is closed and the walls are too smooth and too thick to climb. There are no windows or even murder holes to allow for footholds. There are no ladders long enough to reach the top. It is a true castle. Impregnable."

Lúthien sank to the ground. Huan circled her, growled at her, even bit her, to try to get her to her feet. If they must, they would go to the gate and try to beat it down. Lúthien heard Daeron's voice in her mind, and her father's voice, and Celegorm and Curufin's voices, and they all said the same thing: There is no hope for Beren! He is dead! Then, suddenly, she drew herself up with a light in her eyes.

"If Beren indeed is dead and the Valar gives me no protection, then I will give myself to Sauron so that I may spit in his face! Now let them hear my voice and acknowledge it! If we can lure him out, then maybe we have a chance."

Then Lúthien drew in a deep breath and began singing.

What are you doing! Huan whimpered, pacing so that it looked as though he were chasing his tail. You are being too loud! Everyone inside that tower will hear you! Stop singing! Do not give up hope! Do not surrender so easily!

But Lúthien did not understand Huan, and he was not about to open his mouth and speak with words. Her voice echoed through the isle. The unbroken silence suddenly shivered into silver fragments. The wolves in the distance howled, and the tower's walls themselves trembled at the sound of her voice. And when the song was over, Lúthien strode towards the bridge of the Isle.

Then they heard a faint voice in quivering song from the walls of rock that sang in answer that was not an echo.

Lúthien gasped and halted in her tracks, pricking up her ears. "Keep singing, whoever you are!"

"Morgoth, mighty though he be,

Shall never withstand the wrath of Me

For long ago Varda set in the voids with dews still glistening wet

The seven stars to give all My children hope and light

And to fill that void and chase away the fear of night;

To render the Evil One's fall from his throne that I there set."

"Huan! Huan!" Lúthien whispered. "I hear a song far under, far but strong, a song that Beren often sang. I hear his voice; I know that it is his. I have heard it often in dream and in my wandering."

Huan cocked his head hoping but doubtful. But that was all the proof she needed, and she despaired no longer. She sang loudly a song of praise to the Valar; a song her mother had taught her long ago when she had been an Elvin-child. She invoked Varda and Manwë. But once her song ended, neither Huan nor Lúthien heard an answer this time.

"What has happened? How come he will not answer me anymore? Beren? Beren!" Lúthien cried.

Huan whimpered.

A hundred reasons for his silence crossed her mind, but she refused to give in. She sat wrapped at dead of night and sang. To its height and to its depth the Wolves Isle, rock upon rock and pile on pile, trembled and echoed her voice. Huan lay hidden and growled, watchful in the dark, waiting for cruel battle.

Sauron sat in his high tower upon his iron chair. It was as close a replica of the Iron Throne as it could possibly be. Though his master Morgoth sat upon the throne and ruled as King of the World, Sauron wielded great power of his own. He was wrapped in deep thought. He planned to announce a great sabbat to celebrate his good fortunes. Torturing a prisoner or two, an execution here and there. It would please him and amuse his servants as well as strike fear into their hearts.

He had the last of Barahir's kin in his dungeons and planned to send his head to Morgoth. That would put an end to Man's annoying rebellion and discourage the accursed Elves. Men had been a valuable ally to the Elves. The race of the Dwarves was not so hardy. They were fewer in number and were easily swayed to Morgoth's side with the promise of mithril, the rare and invaluable ore of Arda. He also held King Finrod of the Noldoli. Morgoth would be pleased with such an important captive. This would be a crippling blow to the Noldor and their kingdoms would be unstable without one of their royal family.

It was then that he heard a sweet and feminine voice cut through the eerie silence like a knife. She sang in elvish, the Sindarin language first, and then in Quenya. She sang defiantly. For a moment he harkened to her, enthralled by the beauty of her voice and marveled that it could reach his ears so clearly. Her voice seemed to ring within the very walls. Then he smiled to himself. Though he could not see her, Sauron knew she could be none other than the daughter of Melian. He had known long before from his spies that she was coming and had only waited for her to fall into the trap. Her voice was unlike any other, and the rumor of her beauty, song, and dance had long gone forth from Doriath.

"Draugluin!" he called.

The wolf strode before him silently, ever near his Master and ever watchful. Unlike treacherous Orcs and cowed slaves, Wargs were reliable servants.

"Yes, Master?" his voice was hoarse.

"You have always been one of my most faithful servants. True?"

"Of course, Master."

"Do you hear that voice?"

"Aye."

"Does it belong to the same maiden that you encountered upon the Isle?"

"Yes! Yes, that is she! She lit the whole forest on fire with her black magics! Many of my wolves will never grow their hair back!"

"She slew Gwendling?"

He nodded grimly.

Sauron did not know if he should be angry, impressed, or amused, "I always told her that her pride and her vanity would be her undoing. But how did the girl manage it? She is alone and quite conspicuous."

He thought of how valuable a captive Lúthien would be. He knew now for a certainty that he held Beren and Finrod within his grasp. Rebels seemed to be drawn to this tower like flies to honey. He could not believe his good fortune. Morgoth would reward him richly for Beren's head and Finrod's. Lúthien would make the greatest gift of all. The brash she-elf was even more valuable a captive than Finrod! Last time he looked, Finrod was dead. The Noldor had likely taken a new king and forgotten him, Sauron convinced himself. Most likely Celegorm had been crowned. It was no secret that the Dark Lord wished to possess Lúthien, fairest of maids. There would be no mutilating torture for her. She would also be the key to Thingol's throne, Melian's downfall, and the destruction of the Sindar. He was so overjoyed at these thoughts that he no longer cared if the girl was alone or if she was truly defenseless.

"Ah! Little Lúthien! What brought the foolish fly to the web unsought? A great and rich reward Morgoth will owe me when I add such a rare and precious jewel to his hoard. He sent a small army to snatch her from the Caves. I shall present her to him and laugh in his face!"

"You would mock the Maker and the Destroyer?"

Sauron turned to Draugluin, "Did I say mock? Never! Now is the time that you may avenge yourself and Gwendling. Release a wolf to bring her before me for questioning. Remember that not a hair upon her head must be harmed. We must have this prisoner intact if we are to deliver her to Morgoth alive. Do not disturb me until you have her. Now be swift!"

Lúthien's throat was becoming too dry for singing. She listened for Beren's voice again, but he did not utter a sound. Instead, a wolf howled in answer. Huan bit at her sleeve, for she continued to sing. But he stopped and quickly hid when the gate opened and a beast charged through it with blood red tongue and jaws agape. He stole onto the bridge as the gate quickly closed shut again. The wolf stopped several feet from Lúthien and growled menacingly.

She almost laughed. She had expected more than an average wolf. It was good tidings, though. Sauron was confident, underestimating her. He would quickly find himself mistaken, but she hoped to fool him for as long as possible.

She feigned fear, crying, "No, please! Do not harm me!"

The wolf seemed pleased with her act. She continued to beg for mercy as Huan sprang from beneath the bridge and slew the creature before it even knew what was happening, snapping its neck. Then he returned to his hiding place, dragging the carcass with him.

Within several minutes, another wolf followed and yet another within a short interval of time. Each wolf was a little larger than the last, stronger, quicker, and more brutal. But each fell for Lúthien's pleas and practiced tears. Each ended their lives with Huan's teeth in their throats. Each that came was seized, and none returned with padding feet to tell that a shadow lurked fierce and fell at the bridge's end and that below in the shuddering waters were thrown the gray corpses that Huan had killed.

"Is this the best that Sauron can do?" Lúthien merely gave words to Huan's thoughts. They wondered if he meant to simply empty out the Isle thus, sending them one by one to fight to the death. How long might that take? Dawn was approaching and Lúthien was anxious to recover Beren at last.

The gate opened this time and remained still. A great gray werewolf began striding slowly and surely toward Lúthien. His shadow slowly filled the narrow bridge, a slavering hate. His eyes were blazing blue, his arms and legs powerful, and his jaws agape, revealing several rows of teeth and yellowed canines. He was Draugluin, the old gray lord of wolves and beasts that devoured and drank the flesh and blood of Man and Elf beneath the chair of Sauron himself. He was the sire of wolves, ancient, bloodthirsty, and clever.

This time Lúthien's voice trembled of its own accord, "Come no farther, please. I am but a child!"

"Whose child?" the wolf rasped. "The child of Melian. This time, no black magic can save you, witch! Come with me willingly or I may forget my orders. Child or not, I feast upon all living things. Beg if you must, but your pleas will only fall upon deaf ears. It is blood I crave, not your terror."

Lúthien had discovered that after fear, she expressed defiance and answered, "It is blood you shall have, but it will not be mine. I advise you to step aside. I will enter this tower, but not until I am its Keeper."

"Words of courage do not impress me either. I prefer the sound of dying hearts beating their last in my ears."

"The last heart you hear will be your own."

With these words, Huan sprang from his hiding and tackled the lord of wolves. Their fight was brutal. He was by far the most powerful of wolves that Huan had faced yet. They grappled upon the bridge biting and clawing at one another, snarling and yelping. They fell into the water below, a vile, muddy river, waters likely infested with poison.

When Draugluin failed to bite Huan, the wolf-lord turned on Lúthien and sprang at her, but she had her dagger. She stabbed him, wounding him. Yet her dagger was no longer aflame. It was just a burnt dagger now, and the wound did not make it any easier to kill him. Slaying him took a great struggle, and he refused to die as quietly as his own servants did. He snarled and howled a great deal. He sank his teeth into Huan's side. Huan became enraged, and he ripped out an artery in Draugluin's throat as he let out a howl of pain. Lúthien let out a worried cry, thinking Huan had been the one wounded mortally, the fight was so jumbled and confused. This startled both Huan and the wolf-lord, and the wolf slipped from Huan's grasp while it could.

Terrified at the sight of his own life's blood mixing with the muddy water, Draugluin fled upon all fours to the tower. Huan bounded after him and was forced to a halt as the gate slammed shut before him. Lúthien stooped to study and treat his wounds. Draugluin limped back into the darkness from whence he came, leaving a dark trail of blood behind him. He was defeated. He had truly been one of the greatest wolves, and he was the first. He crawled to his master's throne, getting weaker with each step, his blood soaking the floor like water, his heart beating fainter in his ears.

Somehow he managed to reach his Master, falling before his feet with a great thud and lay there, breathing in quick, shallow gasps. Sauron's body guards stepped aside and the necromancer himself rose from his seat and expressed offence as the wolf-lord's blood dripped at his feet. Draugluin stared up at his master, smelling of death.

"What is this?" Sauron demanded. "Have even you failed me, Draugluin? She is little more than a child!"

"Master, forgive me. I have failed to bring you your prisoner, but I have crawled my way here like a worm to warn you of what this Elvin-princess has brought with her. Huan, the great hound of the gods is here. He murdered many of my good lads, and he has done well to do me in. If you must send someone out there to capture the Elvin-princess, you must send the mightiest wolf on earth, for none of the wolves or werewolves you reign over can defeat that hound."

Sauron's eyes flashed and he scowled. The other wolves whimpered at the name of Huan. He stomped on Draugluin's skull with an iron clad boot and shattered it, more to silence his whimpering and death rattles than to put him out of his misery.

"Bring a slave to clean up this mess!" he ordered. "And another to wash my boot!"

He sat grudgingly upon his throne, angry and humiliated, though he would never show his shame. Clearly he had underestimated the princess. He reminded himself that she was more than a cursed Elf. She was a Half-Maia, almost one of his own order. He knew now that any servant he sent against Huan would fail. If Draugluin was not the mightiest of wolves, then that left only one other wolf, but he was many leagues away in Angband.

"So," said the sorcerer to himself. "The little Elvin-woman is not as foolish as I thought. She has not come alone. Huan of Valinor, is it? Hmmm. Very interesting. He would make a worthy captive also. After all, he has killed many of my master's most valuable wolves, not to mention half of mine. Draugluin was my greatest wolf, and Huan has killed him. That is a most terrible blow to my power. Hmmm . . . Well, I cannot pass up the chance to capture Lúthien of the Sindar, fairest maiden of the world and only daughter to her father and her sweet mother Melian. Oh no, of course not. I must either capture the mutt or kill him, although, I would much prefer him dead."

Sauron cast a glance at the dead wolf upon the floor.

"The mightiest wolf on earth, eh? Well, everyone knows that story. Wargs have always been the strongest fighters, but none of my werewolves here would match the title of The Mightiest on Earth. So what can I throw at him?"

Suddenly the Necromancer was struck with a moment of inspiration. Perhaps the mightiest of wolves was in fact upon the Isle. He had the power to take up the form of many creatures, and the wolf was one of them. He was deadly in this form, perhaps even superior to Morgoth's pet. If not, he would be a terrifying sight. Huan may be convinced that he was facing his death and would finally be cowed.

"Open the gates one last time," he told his servants. "And once I bring up the princess, fetch her lover Beren from the pits. Alive or dead, it makes no matter. If he is still alive, I shall slaughter him in front of her. That ought to take the edge out of her quick enough."

Huan licked his wounds. The first couple of wolves had never managed to scratch him. Draugluin had bitten him several times, but the wounds were not deadly. He was relieved that he was not dead. He had half expected it to be his last battle. Lúthien scolded him for licking the wounds.

"That will not help. You are bleeding, Huan. Here... I know some healing arts. Perhaps I could help you."

She reached out to dress his wound, but he growled.

"You are stubborn! Or is it perhaps pride?"

Huan puffed out his chest. Lúthien laughed. She put an herbal salve on his cuts that stopped the bleeding and lessened his pain. He licked her hand in gratitude. Then he caught a curious scent and looked at her with wonder.

"Yes," she confessed. "There is honey in my remedy. It prevents infection. Now we must try to get into that tower. I am not going to wait out here for another wolf or a whole army of Orcs to catch us. Next time that gate opens, we run for it. Follow me, Huan, unless you want to stay here?"

Huan shook his head vigorously.

Lúthien smiled and they both made their way towards the gates, crossing the bridge and passing two stone statues. They were the only guards for those gates. They were carved in the image of two Balrogs with their dark wings outstretched and a demonic gleam in their eyes. Lúthien and Huan kept their eyes low as they passed by them. It was said that those weak of mind would break at the statues' penetrating stare, but Lúthien and Huan were pure of heart and far from weak of mind. Those stones did not daunt them and neither were they afraid. Now they stood and prepared to open the gates.

Suddenly, that gate was cast open before they had laid a finger on it. Lúthien and Huan were flung away by some sorcerous power. Lúthien rose from the ground and ran towards the opening, fearing that it might never be opened again. This may be their chance. Huan ran before her, suspicious and determined to guard her. Then a dark form stepped into the gateway, barring the path, but it was hidden by the darkness within. Lúthien halted and stared. Huan was growling, his hair stood on end, and his teeth were bared. He looked very dangerous, but the figure took a step toward them anyway, clearly not in the least frightened by him. Then, the little bit of light that was in that land fell onto it and was revealed.

Wolf-Sauron stood before them. He was eight feet in height with muscular arms and legs and a pelt of fur black as pitch and coarse as brambles. His jaws were wide, fangs bone white and sank past his chin gleaming-sharp and dyed with venom, torment and death. The deadly vapor of his breath swept before him. His claws on his fingertips were as long and as sharp as swords. His eyes were glowing blood red and they glowed like fiery hot embers into the night. They bored into the soul and chilled the bone. He opened his jaws and let our a roar at the intruders, saliva dripped from his fangs and smoked as it hit the stone floor of the bridge.

It was a sight of such horror that Huan sprang aside. He feared that he was looking upon Carchoroth. His hair now stood on end for terror and he fled to his undying shame, leaving Lúthien unprotected. Huan was no coward and he had never ran from a fight before. Lúthien, however, was frozen in place. She tried to scream, but her voice had abandoned her for the moment. She could neither fight nor flee. When she found her voice, she sang, but her voice was feeble. She stood upon the bridge alone, but her beauty and her own light shone in challenge like the first star of evening, and she continued to sing, and the song gave her a little courage.

"Welcome to my tower, Lúthien," he said mockingly. "Or should I say, your highness? Of what avail do you deem your babbling song? I hear you singing, and yet it cannot harm me. Why have you come? To sing to me? Or have you perhaps come to see my dungeons?"

Lúthien took off her cloak and answered, "I am here to see your fall!"

"My Master is dying to meet you, and you have come to me! I am honored."

Those words gave her a chill. That was when Sauron sprang at her. She let out a cry as his weight crushed her, but Lúthien had expected it. What she did not expect was the stench. His body reeked of blood, sweat, and earth. She could feel and smell his hot breath upon her face, fouler than anything she had ever smelled before. His eyes were upon hers, burning ever brighter, and they seemed to scorch her very flesh.

Dizzying, she whispered two words, "Sweet dreams," and swooned, but not before she had cast a fold of her enchanted cloak over his head.

Sauron had thought that he had defeated her, but he stumbled and struggled to rip the cloth away. He suddenly felt dazed and drowsy. He backed away from Lúthien as he cast the cloak aside in fury. Then Huan sprang at him, sensing this critical moment of weakness now that he was drowsed by Lúthien's spell. The hound's courage had returned to him and he would not abandon Lúthien, even if it meant death.

That battle between Huan and Wolf-Sauron was long and fierce. No power of wizardry could defeat Huan. Sauron could not fight off sleep. Lúthien's spell was too strong, and the battle had made him all the wearier. Backwards and forwards they sprang, and many times they rose and fell beneath one another and spun in circles trying to grasp the other. There was a terrible den of noise. Though Sauron was half-asleep, Huan had to be careful of his sword-like claws and venomous fangs. Huan barked and snapped at his legs as Sauron swung his arms and claws blindly. Huan sank his teeth into his thigh, forcing him to fight upon all fours. Sauron howled and roared in wrath and frustration and dove at Huan. They entangled one another, and Huan began to howl in pain as he was cut many times by Sauron's claws.

Lúthien awoke with a start, coughing and shivering. Afterwards, she recalled that darkness with chills. She felt like she had been cast into a bucket of ice and had slipped from one dark dream to another. That was what the black breath did. Slowly she gathered her senses and reached for her cloak.

Sauron bit at Huan's throat, wrenching off Huan's protective iron collar decorated with mithril. His fangs barely missed Huan's throat when Lúthien roused herself and screamed for Huan. The hound recovered faster and took Sauron by his throat, drawing blood, but he did not puncture any arteries. By then, Sauron was exhausted, Lúthien's trick confused his senses, and dawn was fast approaching. He struggled, but Huan held his throat in a firm grip, choking the life out of him.

Huan was lucky. He had received many wounds from Sauron, but none were fatal, mere scraps from his claws. It was the fangs that he had avoided at all costs. He could have indeed been the mightiest wolf on earth, but he was not. Sauron was not a wolf. He was a sorcerer, and sorcerers are affected by other's spells. Huan was nearly bent and lame, but dragged Sauron towards Lúthien. She was pale and cold. The black breath had an effect even on Lúthien Tinúviel.

"You cursed filth!" Sauron hissed. "You shall meet your end soon, Wolf-Hound! What a glorious day it shall be!"

Threats are a sign of weakness, Necromancer, Huan snorted.

With that he gripped his throat so that Sauron gasped and quivered and tried to slip from his grasp. Lúthien laughed.

"Well, well, well. What have we here?" she said, grinning. "Ah, I see now. It must be one of the lowliest and meanest creatures I have ever laid eyes on in waking life! Oh no, wait a moment. I believe this is Sauron, Morgoth's mightiest and most clever of servants!"

Huan let out a bark and shook his head.

"No. I do not think it is really Sauron either, Huan. Sauron is much more terrible than this. Well, that is what I have heard. But now that we have him, I do not believe any of the rumors I have heard tell of. They have been greatly exaggerated."

Sauron scowled and changed before their very eyes, trying to slip from his predicament. He became a bat, a rat, a cat, a boar, a horse, but all to no avail. He changed into a long serpent. He tried to slither his way through the grass, but Huan caught him by the tail and sank his teeth in deep. Sauron hissed at him and tried to snap his jaws at Huan with two poisoned fangs, but Lúthien sprang with her dagger and put it through his jaws, pinning them shut. He screeched horribly and took his original shape. With his change of flesh, the blade was loosened, and Lúthien pressed the edge to his throat.

"Down, snake!" she commanded. "I would advise you to be still. Small my dagger may be, but it is steel forged in Valinor, and very effective. I also know very well how to wield it. I do not faint at the sight of blood either."

He became quite still and eyed her warily. He could not move, he could not summon his servants. He was cornered. He could not believe that this maiden with her strange cloak and her pup was to be his downfall! He was still drowsy, and he could not remember all that had happened, but he was still angry. He was also afraid for his life, a fear that cooled his anger swiftly.

"Good. Remain on your belly like the snake you are! I want a good look at you, necromancer. Whatever form you take, you will never manage to worm your way out of this one! For ages you have tortured my people, enthralled my people, murdered my people. Many ancient kings fell at your hands, and many people were ensnared by your curses and your dark spells. You have gone unpunished for far too long! I am here to take what you have stolen from me and to deliver judgment, though mine shall pale in comparison to Ilúvatar's! What do you say in your defense?"

"Your people are rebels. They bow to false gods and disobey their true master. My part in this war is to eradicate dangerous rebels and to enlighten those that can be saved from their delusions about the gods. If they defy the power of Morgoth, they deserve no less than enslavement or death. They are all blind fools. They would see the truth to Morgoth's power if they would only obey him. You have no right to judge me nor to take what I have."

"Power? How can you speak of the power of your master when I, only a tender maiden of Elfinesse and a simple dog, take all the might he gives you and now hold you as prisoner? Well, you are not so powerful now, are you?" Lúthien scorned. "The power of the Valar is stronger than you or Morgoth. That is why we have defeated you. The Valar came through us. You lie even now. I suppose the truth is too terrible for you. Even if I do not have the right to judge you, I still intend to finish what I have already begun. What shall I do with you now, I wonder? What would be the proper punishment for an evil sorcerer such as yourself?"

She paused and began to pace about, first with a thoughtful expression upon her face and then with a smile. Sauron watched with a resentful look in his eye.

"You are without a doubt, guilty and unrepentant," Lúthien spoke again. "The damnable evidence of your deeds is all about us. I have also thought about your words and I must agree with you in part. I am not fit to punish you. Instead, I should take you to Angband. That is our next destination, and who better to judge you than the one you call your master? I am sure that he would be merciful and eventually forgive you for your failure."

"No! My place is here!" Sauron cried.

"There everlastingly shall you be tormented by his gaze unless…"

"Unless? What do you want?"

Lúthien stroked the fine stone walls of Minis Tirith.

"I suppose you could begin by giving me this tower and everything inside it living or nonliving. That includes-"

"My tower-" Sauron tried to protest.

Huan closed off his windpipe.

"That includes all of the thralls and prisoners," Lúthien resumed. "Your servants must flee from here at once. And all your beasts: Your wolves and your Orcs and whatever foul creatures you possess, and all your spells and sorcery are to be lifted off of this place! Should they fail to leave, their ghosts shall man the walls. I claim this keep and the land that lies in its shadow in the name of my father Elwë Thingol and for the people of the Sindar. You are to relinquish your stake here, give me the key, and be gone from here forever. And you must promise never again to trouble my people or their allies. Do we have an accord?"

"May I make on humble request?" Sauron inquired.

"That would depend upon the request," she answered with severity.

"I ask for so little. I would like to choose two prisoners for myself. Since you wish to strip away most of my powers, I will need someone to assist me in such a vulnerable state."

Lúthien snickered, "Two random prisoners? I think not. I can guess quite accurately which you have in mind. Beren son of Barahir and King Finrod."

Sauron gaped in astonishment. She had guessed right on the mark.

"No doubt you sought to regain some of Morgoth's favor by at least giving him those two. He would have been bouncing off the walls. After all, what is a rubble of stones compared to such prisoners? I must deny your request. You are the mighty sorcerer Sauron. You have no need of servants."

She held out a slender hand.

"The keys now. And your seal."

Sauron began mumbling incoherently. Huan gripped his throat tighter until he nodded. First he handed her his seal and then the key. It was made of iron and wrought in the shape of entwined serpents with emerald eyes and a ruby red flower, Finrod's emblem. He clutched it in a death grip, reluctant to seal his own fate. Lúthien gave him a dark look and he allowed her to take it.

"Daughter of Melian," Sauron said slowly. "The Isle is yours."

Lúthien opened the gates and declared her power. The servants of Sauron fled, abandoning the Isle. The tower trembled, and no wolf howled ever again in the Isle of Werewolves, and now it was once again the ancient watchtower of Minis Tirith. It would take ages for the land to be resorted to its former glory and beauty, but already the air felt less foul.

Lúthien turned to Sauron for the last time. "We are not through yet, Sauron," she reminded him. "What do you think the proper punishment should be, Huan? Shall I let you kill him?"

Huan gripped Sauron's throat and nodded eagerly.

"You have betrayed your master's trust by surrendering this land to me," she told the sorcerer. "He would make you pay for such an offense. That would be enough. I shall cast your spirit out of your body, no more. Then you can do no one harm. To recover your form, you would have to come to Morgoth in humiliation. It is your choice what you shall do. This is my judgment for you. Remember your promise. I never want to see your face in Beleriand again. Now begone!"

A wolf's corpse was left dangling in Huan's mouth, for Sauron's spirit fled. His ghost took the form of a vampire and he fled. He would not return to his master. Morgoth would only give him cruel punishment for his loss and his failure to keep the two captives that he had lying in wait in his pits and for his failure to capture the maiden that he had so long hunted for. But that would not be the end of Sauron.

He would keep his promises in part. After a long spell of nursing his wounds, he began to grow in strength over the ages. He never again troubled Beleriand or Lúthien's people again because both were gone by the Second Age when the necromancer would return to seize power of his own.

Once the sorcerer and his minions were gone, the prisoners emptied out of the tower. They were a piteous lot, dressed in rags and chains. There were Elf-men, maidens, and even children that had been born and bred for cruel labor. Lúthien almost wept at the number of women and children that had been enthralled. Many had not seen the light for years, so they shielded their eyes as they came. Some burst into tears. Others were silent. They sang and embraced one another, rejoicing their freedom. Then each one came to thank Lúthien personally. One fell before Lúthien and kissed her feet, weeping hysterically and babbling prayers. The others followed his example until she was completely encircled. They shrilled their piteous cries of praise and thanks to Lúthien and the children tried to fawn upon Huan. He snarled at them and would not let the little ones come near him. He was alarmed and nervous. Everyone wanted to touch him, and they also wanted to touch Lúthien, their beautiful savior. They began singing praises to her, and they called her by a certain name.

She realized that they thought she must be Varda herself, Queen of Heaven and the Valar. After all, she had defeated Sauron and delivered them from their torment, and she was a Half-Maia. There was divine blood in her veins and it was evident in her very appearance. The thralls wished to know everything about their beautiful rescuer, but she was no Valier.

"Wait!" she announced and the crowd grew silent. "I am not one of the Valar, make no mistake, my good people. I am Lúthien Princess of Doriath, no more and no less."

"An honest mistake, milady," the first Elf answered. "But you are no less deserving of praise. No doubt the Valar used you as their instrument. Our freedom is a miracle."

Lúthien searched each of their faces for Beren and Finrod, but she did not find anyone she recognized.

"Huan," she said. "Must we search among the dead to find him whom we sought for love and for whom we toiled and fought?"

"Who is it that you are searching for?" one of the former thralls had heard.

"I am looking for a mortal man named Beren, King Finrod, and their companions. Can you tell me where I might find them?"

There was no response. Then a scrawny, half-naked boy stepped forward and took Lúthien by the hand. Lúthien stared openmouthed at him. She could see every little rib in his body, his hair was white like an old man's, and his eyes which were green as moss and were sadder than any she had ever seen.

"I know where you can find the people you seek," he said. "How many were you searching for?

"Twelve set out," she answered. "I do not know how many live now."

"They were thrown into a pit months ago. They had already been tortured. The pits are for those they want to break in slowly. The last time I looked, my lady, there were only two prisoners down there. I will show you where to find them."

"Was one of them a Man?" she asked.

"Yes. The other was an Elf, though."

Lúthien's heart leaped. Beren had been the only Man of his company. At last, she would see him again. Dead or alive, she knew not. She could not think about that, or she was lost.

He led her to the pits and halted before the largest of them and pointed. She struggled to slide away the heavy stone slab. The boy stooped to aid her, and the rest of the prisoners joined them. With the effort of ten, they managed to slide it open wide enough for Lúthien to squeeze through. A foul stench greeted their nostrils. It smelled of filth and of death.

The child looked at her with eyes older than his time, "I warn you, Princess. You may not like what you find."

"What will I find?" she dreaded the answer.

"You will find truth, but no mercy and little hope."

She cast a rope into the pit and shimmied down into the earth anxiously. The pit winded down, down, down so deep that the light could not reach and she could not even see her hand before her face. She felt bones crunch beneath her feet when she landed and shuddered, pulling her cloak close. Who knows what else she was stepping in. The temperature dropped significantly with the descent. The smell had grown worse. It was damp and silent as the grave.

"Beren?" she called. "Beren, I have come for you! Where are you?"

There was no answer.

Panic tightened her throat and made her mouth run dry as cotton. She groped and stumbled in the dark until she tripped over three great shapes. One was the carcass of a great wolf, its head smashed by some heavy object. The second was King Finrod lying lifeless upon the floor. A strangled cry of grief escaped her throat at the sight.

"No," she whispered in dread. "I came too late."

Huan heard her and came to have a look into the pit.

"No! Stay there, Huan!" Lúthien cried, but Huan had already seen the body of his king and let out a mournful howl.

"Oh, Huan," she sighed. "I am so sorry."

Huan whimpered, and Lúthien bowed her head.

"Beren said to me in his letters that Finrod knew he was going to die. It looks as though he had foreknowledge of it indeed."

She hoped that she was not too late to save Beren as well. Huan sprang into the pit after her and nuzzled the body of his liege and howled mournfully. But it was the last shape in the pit that almost destroyed her. Beren was lying beside the dead king, eyes closed, unmoving. Lúthien reached out and touched him gently and her hand came back bloodied to the wrist. She took Beren's hand in hers. It was ice cold, and his face was deathly pale.

"Beren?" she called his name a little louder.

There was no response.

"Beren!" Lúthien shrieked. "Please wake up! You cannot die! I have come for you. Please do not die! Wake up! It is Tinúviel! I have come for you!"

Huan whimpered and nuzzled at her arm.

"He is not dead!" Lúthien shouted. "After all I have been through to get here, he has to be merely asleep! Please wake up! The sun is shining again and Sauron is overcome! It is not too late; there is hope yet!"

But Beren did not wake. Lúthien lay down beside him.

"I was too late," she whispered. "Please forgive me, Beren."

Huan tugged at her sleeve and she shoved him away. She would not leave him. He began to howl again. Lúthien was in danger of something worse than Sauron or the black breath or anything else she had faced so far. She was in danger of the darkness: The spell of forgetfulness, and death of grief. She closed her eyes and began slipping into oblivion.


	15. Chapter 15 The Forest of Brethil

Fifteen

The Forest of Brethil

Beren stirred and awoke from dark dreams. He felt the pain and sores that he had received from torture and groaned. How he had endured such torment, he did not know. Finrod was dead, and that was all that he could think about. Then he opened his eyes and was near blinded by sunlight. He was startled at first and believed he had died, but then he lifted his face to the warmth and the light gladly.

"I never dreamed that I would see light again," he said aloud. "Unless it were in my dreams. And speaking of dreams..."

He had thought he heard Lúthien singing, but he did not dare to believe his ears when he recognized her voice. What if it was some trick of wizardry as Eilinel had been? He lay where he was, waiting for Sauron to appear and demand information. Worse, what if it truly was her, and Sauron had succeeded to snatch her from the Caves? He could never trust the Enemy. Boldog may have never been slain and the story told to ensnare Finrod and his companions.

In spite of his doubts, he had sung back. He had made up a song off the top of his head so she would know he was alive and give her hope, but he was so weary that he had fallen asleep again. Beren had light now, so why not Tinúviel? He half expected to see her standing before him. He wished it were no dream.

His senses slowly came back to him, and he realized that he was warm, and it was not the warmth from the sun. It was the warmth of life. The pits were cold and black from the damp earth. No such warmth could get into them. He believed another wolf had come to devour King Finrod's body. He had failed to defend his king in life, he would not fail in death as well. He immediately drew his knife and stood up to defend the body.

Light fell upon another body lying at his feet, and it was no Elf warrior. It was Lúthien, her hair streaming in the wind, her face glistening like a jewel in the rain, and she looked to be asleep. Beren recognized her and cried out with joy and astonishment. His mourning was stilled, and he felt his heart aflame for her that she had come through peril to him.

"Tinúviel!" he cried, and then he laughed. "When am I going to stop mistaking you for the Enemy? I might end up killing you one of these days because of it."

He leaned down and lifted her up into his arms.

"Awake, Tinúviel!" he called. "Come on, now. Wake up!"

Lúthien stirred and moaned, "Am I dead? Are we both dead?"

"No you are not dead."

Suddenly she struggled against him and cried, "No! Please! Allow me to stay with his body!"

"Tinúviel!" Beren shook her a little. "What body? I am not dead at all! I am alive!"

Lúthien slowly opened her eyes, blinked a few times, and looked up at him as though she were seeing a ghost. She touched his lips and hair and was finally convinced. So Beren and Lúthien were reunited after their long parting, and the rain had ceased to fall, and the sun pierced through the clouds and shone down upon them, illuminating the ground before them so that they seemed to be standing in divine light. The two stared into each other's eyes for a long while, their eyes dancing with relief and happiness. They were searching for words to say, to release their joy and not lose their heads and their dignity in the process.

Beren had grown a shaggy beard since he was first thrown into the pit, hair in tangles, and he was spattered with blood and gore. Lúthien's own hair was disheveled and she was dirty from many days of travel. Despite all that, each appeared beautiful or handsome in the lover's eyes.

Then Lúthien could contain herself no longer. "I should have known that you would not leave me," she said with a smile.

"Never," Beren answered.

He swooped her into his arms and they kissed fiercely. Then Lúthien laughed merrily. She had not laughed for so long, it even surprised her.

"You are hurt."

"No, I am not hurt."

"But the blood…" she pointed. "I thought you were dead!"

"The blood is not mine. It is… Finrod's."

He turned to the king's body, hoping against hope that he was alive. If Lúthien were here, why should he be dead? But Finrod lie still in a pool of blood.

All at once the dam broke, and Beren burst into tears. Lúthien offered her arms for comfort. There were no words she could say.

As he keened his grief, she studied the body of Finrod carefully. This was the one her father had hoped to wed her to once. She was frightened at the thought, for she had been very young when Thingol put the idea in her head. To wed him, she would have been required to leave Doriath and join him in Nargothrond among the Noldor. Finrod himself was hesitant to wed, though his people cried out for an heir. Few desired the Sons of Fëanor to take the throne then. Instead he had promised that if Lúthien decided she would wed him, he would welcome her. From time to time he would inquire about her and send her gifts, but they never arranged to meet informally or exchanged words. Only Thingol nursed the hope that his friend and ally would eventually woo his beloved daughter. It would be a good match, he had always insisted. It would benefit both their kingdoms and their race overall. However that might be, Finrod was almost never in her thoughts.

Looking upon Finrod now, she admitted that he was comely indeed. If she had seen that face in her youth she might well have agreed to the match. She saw him in person only once as a child and could never remember specific features. She had always pictured Finrod as stern-faced and cool of temperament. She would now be forever grateful to him and would admire his deeds. He was a friend to all free folk, including Men and Dwarves. He even tolerated the Sons of Fëanor, his estranged kin. He was an avid believer in justice and truth. He had kept his word and aided Beren when no one else would. He had sacrificed himself rather than betray anyone. Beren was alive because of him, and the ring she wore was once the king's. She knew his death would be another grievous blow to Beleriand and tears of grief fell upon her cheeks.

This is what death looks like, she thought. Finrod was only a few hours dead, yet the color in his face was gone. He was stiff and cold to the touch, and the blood was beginning to smell like rotting fish. It was her first real encounter of death. Her father made certain that she should never experience it. During the war, he would not allow the public display of those slain in battle. Their bodies were quickly burned after their families had said their goodbyes. Lúthien was not allowed to go on hunts either to spare her from seeing the death throes of the beasts slaughtered for table, even though she begged to go. Now that death was staring her in the face, she did not know what to make of it.

"Where are the others?" she asked.

"Dead. I am the last of the company."

"I should have come sooner."

Beren's tone suddenly changed, and he rose and looked down on her as he spoke, "What are you doing here? I thought you were to stay in Doriath where you would be safe!" Beren said sternly.

"I came to rescue you!" Lúthien answered sharply. "I have been through hell to reach you. In Doriath, I was safe but miserable. I could not stay there."

"Tell me. Tell me all of it. Now that your adventures are over, we have all the time in the world to tell stories. What might of love did you possess to bring you here to terror's lair!"

"Oh, that is a long story," she moaned. "And I am not sure I have the patience to tell you such a tale. It would quite spoil the moment. I only wished to see you again, and you are not well. We must get out of this pit and freshen up. Can you walk?"

He nodded, then said, "I will not leave Finrod's body here to rot."

"We will take him with us, but bury him later," Lúthien said after a pause. "I must see to your wounds. The living first, Beren. Then the dead."

Once Beren and Lúthien climbed out of the pit, the thralls gathered about them, some still convinced Lúthien was a Valier no matter what she said. They were curious about the mortal she had come to save. Mostly they wanted news of Beleriand. Their ears had been filled with lies of the activities of their kin. The couple told them all they knew. Lúthien wished she could see to their hurts. She wanted to answer all their questions and soothe all their fears. It was what the true Varda would do, whom they called Elbereth. But there were so many, and Beren was weak and in want of nursing of his own. Finrod's body would ripen in time. Beren was becoming annoyed and impatient.

"See if they cannot carry Finrod's body!" he said sourly. "Some of them may even know him. It is the least they could do."

They were more than willing to do that. They knew where the nearest stream was. There were boulders and rocks aplenty. They could bury the king there. Lúthien could see to them all afterwards.

The thralls were true to their word. They soon came upon the stream. Lúthien requested they wait nearby. The boy that had led her to Beren earlier nodded and stood before the freed prisoners.

"Give them some time!" he commanded the throng. "In the meantime, see to the King's body and find food and see to your health yourselves! These two have done enough for us, let them take care of themselves now!"

Amazingly, the mob listened. The boy turned to her.

"You may see to the man now, beautiful lady," he said. "We will await your return. We have waited much of our lives, some longer than others. We can wait a little longer."

"What is your name?"

"I have none," he answered and walked away.

"At last, a stream clean enough to bathe in!" Beren declared. "And I must quench my thirst! I cannot remember when last I had a drop of water."

"Drink as much as you like," Lúthien said. "It may be a long while before we find another such stream."

Huan was looking forward to a bath as well. He looked a fright with his coat matted in mud and blood. Beren drank and removed his shirt and boots as Lúthien started a fire and began boiling water. She would not allow Beren to bathe before she had seen to his hurts. His clothes had been taken when he was captured, all but the rags he wore about his waist. She had him lay down as she examined him.

He was covered with dry blood, and underneath that he was badly bruised and cut in many places. His feet were cut all over and covered with calluses. It looked as though they had tried to burn the soles of his feet as well. His back had been ravaged by the whip, his face bruised.

"What did they do to you?" she said as a tear fell.

"Tried to extract information and failed. They did not try long before they flung us all into the pit, deciding that would be better. Sauron's torturers are no Balrogs. They more often kill their victims before they can get a whispered word."

"I am surprised you could walk on those feet."

"I can feel very little in them. That is a mercy, I suppose."

She decided to wait to dress his wounds until after he had washed. Lúthien crushed herbs into the boiling pot, making an anti-bacterial soap which they used to wash their hair and skin. She filled their water skins and stripped down to her gown. All at once, the three companions dove into the waters. The blood, sweat, and grime washed clean. The waters were chilly but refreshing, not unpleasant. She rubbed his skin with the soap root. His cuts seemed beyond count. Then she rinsed her own skin with soap and water. They climbed out of the waters as soon as that was done.

Beren shaved off his beard and brushed out his tangles and trimmed his hair. Lúthien combed her own locks and sat by the fire to dry as she boiled more water for cooking and searched through her supplies for bandages.

As she rubbed a soothing salve and dressed Beren's wounds, Huan shook himself, getting the couple even wetter. They laughed whole-heartedly. It had been a long while since they had laughed together.

"Wait! That is Celegorm's hound!" Beren said with astonishment. "I did not recognize him at first with his fur coated in gore. How did you happen upon him?"

"I will tell you everything once all your needs have been met. You shall remain here with the fire. Huan and I will provide a meal."

"But-"

"You were near death's door a few moments ago," Lúthien said firmly. "I will not take any chances to lose you now. Besides, Huan is an adept hunter and guardian. Trust me."

He could brook no argument. The hound and the maiden hurried away. They returned shortly thereafter, Huan dragging several grouse in his jaws, Lúthien carrying herbs, fruits, nuts, and mushrooms. Lúthien plucked them and tossed the meat, herbs, and mushrooms into the pot. She offered the first bite to Beren, and he ate like a starving man, and that he was. He had not eaten for many days.

Once he had had his fill, he lay upon the grass, suddenly feeling every ache and pain in his bones, despite the cool water and the salve. Perhaps as his body regained its strength, it remembered every wound and complained. Lúthien joined hands with him, and Huan sat nearby.

"I never thought to see the sun again," he said. "And I live now because of you. Now tell me what has befallen you, Tinúviel."

Then Lúthien began reluctantly to tell Beren all that she had done from the moment he had left Menegroth in every detail. She told him about the growing wedge between her and her father, of her misery when all word of Beren ceased. She spoke of her vision, about her mother and her counsel. She told Beren about the betrayal of Daeron and his confessions, her imprisonment, and of how she had escaped from Doriath. She told him about how Huan had found her and brought her to Celegorm. She told of his trickery and her abduction. She was about to resign herself to wedding the serpent with the honeyed tongue until Huan disobeyed his master and led her to freedom. Beren listened intently, but when she had told the part about Celegorm and Curufin, he interrupted.

"Celegorm was never a friend to my people, and he is obsessed with jewels. His father's, the throne, and now you. The brothers swore to kill me if they had the chance. They claim I am going to keep the Silmaril for myself! Your chance meeting must have been the most unfortunate thing that has befallen us so far! It was ill that you came upon them in your hour of desperation. I never knew the Sons of Fëanor had grown so powerful and swayed so many of the people of Nargothrond and that Orodreth could be so easily manipulated. Perhaps Finrod chose the wrong person as his steward. I suppose there was no one else. I fear for Nargothrond. I do not wish to see it fall into the hands of Morgoth or the Sons of Fëanor."

"Orodreth is not Finrod," Lúthien agreed. "The last of the great Noldoli kings is gone from this world, and he leaves no heir."

"Did Celegorm hurt you or touch you?" Beren had to know.

Lúthien hesitated, remembering Celegorm's lips upon her own and his hands in her hair.

"Curufin was the one I most despised," she evaded, and it was true.

Curufin was ever Celegorm's lapdog. He was all too eager to do his bidding, going out of his way to stalk her and be sure she was not breaking their ridiculous rules. He never seemed to care if he hurt her, and Lúthien had an uncomfortable feeling that the younger, crueler brother harbored thoughts of his own toward her. At least Celegorm sincerely wished for her safety and would make a bride of her, not a slave.

Beren looked murderous.

"If I ever have the chance to get my hands on them..."

"You may have that chance yet, Beren," Lúthien said gravely. "Celegorm and Curufin may be after me even as we speak."

She told all the rest. She spoke of the journey to the Isle, forcing their way through wolves and undead, slaying the sorceress of Thuringwethil and overthrowing Sauron after.

"So you came all this way, Tinúviel, over so many leagues and so many dangers, just to find me?"

"Of course. If you were willing to fly into the perils of Angband, the least I could do was to see that you got to the Gate first. It almost seems like my mother encouraged me all along to go after you. She is a Maia, after all. Perhaps she realizes what I felt. She is not one of the Eldar, but a child of the Valar. I hope she knows that I am alive and well, and that I have done her proud. She and Sauron were contemporaries in Valinor, and he shall never disturb Middle-Earth again."

"Yes, and you have won much glory for yourself. You risk too much for me."

"Speak for yourself."

"No one upon earth has dared what you have."

"Except you. You have dared a deed that no Man or Elf has ever dared before, Beren."

"The singing. I thought I was only dreaming when I heard your voice. That is why I sang back, but then I told myself I was a fool. You were supposed to be safe in Doriath."

He wondered if she would ever be safe. He remembered Sauron's words. Morgoth was seeking her, but he did not speak of his fears. Instead, he grew angry, and he wanted to see Finrod.

They returned to the thralls, and they had made a bier for Finrod and dressed his body. Lúthien shook her head

"He was a wonderful king to his people. I do not think any Elf of the Noldor could replace him. I knew him, never intimately. The news of his death will not affect his people only, but all Elves. What happened?"

"We left Nargothrond," Beren began. "We took the guise of Orcs, even though many of the Elves were a bit too tall for the part. Finrod used his enchantments. But Sauron knew his own servants. Evil knows evil. Finrod was no match for Sauron, and his spell soon was laid on us all. We were stripped of our disguises, but Sauron could not find out who we really were. He threw us all into a pit. After we had been in those pits a few days, we heard one of our companions cry out. We asked him what was wrong, but all we found was blood stained upon the earth where he had last been standing. We had no light, so we could not see what had happened. Then Sauron brought us all out and again ordered us to tell him who we were. But Finrod would not tell him anything, and none of the company would betray him. Sauron threw us all back into the pit. Little by little, our company grew smaller, until at last, it was just Finrod and I left. He sacrificed himself for me. That is why I am going to bury him here. That is the least I can do for my king and foster-father."

Huan whimpered and sat by the body of the king.

"So you are Huan of Valinor, are you?" Beren asked the hound.

Huan nodded solemnly.

"And you saved my Tinúviel?"

Again, Huan nodded.

"I cannot thank you enough. I see he has been wounded and healed by you."

"Sauron's work," Lúthien sighed.

Huan began licking his wounds, and Lúthien patted him on the head. Then she looked at the throng.

"There are so many children among them. That boy said he did not even have a name. Children born into slavery, laboring beside adults. Their eyes are not like children's eyes. It is so senseless. I wonder what Angband will be like."

"Worse, I imagine."

Lúthien and Beren buried the body of King Finrod upon his isle. The thralls aided them. There, they paid their last respects to him. Beren took Lúthien's hand and took the ring of Finrod off of its chain. Then he stooped down to Finrod's grave and held it up.

"See here, Finrod, " he said. "This ring is to become our wedding ring someday, if ever we have the chance and live to see such a day. Thank you for all of your past kindness to my father and I, and to all the kin of Men. As a father you were to me, and you were also my teacher and my friend in need. I wish that it had not come to this, Finrod. Now here is your sword. May you rest in peace and join your father, and may you be allowed to return to Middle-Earth soon. We all need you now."

Then Beren, weeping, drove Finrod's sword into the earth, marking his grave. He wiped away his tears then and let Lúthien set to work. She sprinkled salt around the grave and blessed the grounds in the name of Ilúvatar.

"May no evil come here and disturb King Finrod's remains," she said. "Those that do shall be punished by death. I make this a sacred place in the name of Eru that reins in the Undying Lands. May Finrod's bones be put to rest and may they never be disturbed. His death has been avenged. Farewell, dear king."

Then Lúthien kissed the sword as a sign of respect. Beren took her by the hand and stared at the grave for a moment. Then he spoke again.

"Now upon your grave, Finrod, I will swear this. I swear that I shall obey your last wishes. I shall succeed in my Quest, and Tinúviel shall be my bride. On this I swear. I call upon myself the everlasting darkness in its breaking, and may I be as faithful to my oath as you were to your own!"

Lúthien walked amongst the thralls and soon ran low on her healing supplies. She received many more thanks. Some of the newly freed people left immediately in search of their homelands and their families. Those that had no home offered to stay with the couple. But Beren would hear none of it.

"I want no more deaths on account of me!" he bellowed. "You have been freed! Leave! Make homes for yourselves. Forget your torments and make babies! Tinúviel brought you life and freedom. That is what she can give, but all I can give is ashes and dust!"

"If you know naught where to go, go to Doriath or Nargothrond and spread the word as to what happened here."

"Huan," Beren commanded. "First search out the land and make sure that none of Morgoth's armies or spies or anything of the sort still lurks here. This land shall be clean again!"

Huan nodded and did as he was told. Then Beren slipped the ring of Finrod onto Lúthien's finger and kissed her hand. She smiled.

"Ever since you left, I had worn the ring about my neck in memory of you. Now I wear it upon my finger for love of you," she said, "for you are alive."

"I just hope that we may have the chance to make it our real wedding ring, someday," Beren said sadly with a glance at Finrod's grave.

"I want to leave this place," she said. "We cannot stay here."

Once Huan had come back and assured Beren and Lúthien that there was nothing to fear from Sauron or Morgoth again in that land, Lúthien decided that it was time to say good-bye to Huan. Lúthien kneeled and patted Huan on the head, and her eyes were filled with tears. Huan had cast down his eyes.

"All I really can do is thank you, Huan," Lúthien said at last. "Of all the Men and Elves of the world, you were the only one who would help me, and you are a dog! I will never really know why you decided to help me, but I guess it could have been because the Valar was smiling down on me at that moment. You put your master to shame. Thank you."

I will never be able to claim Celegorm as my master again, Lúthien. I wish I could talk to you, but I dare not. Not yet.

"Thank you, Huan, for looking after my Tinúviel," Beren said. "You are a noble beast indeed. Oh, and when you see Celegorm again, lift a leg and piss on his boot for me."

Huan gave him a knowing glance.

"You cannot come with us. You belong to Celegorm, although I know your love for each other will be far less when you return home. He may be after you as well as he is after me. I promise you that we shall meet again. I do not want you to leave. It may seem like I do, but I really do not want to say good-bye to you at all. I would let you come with us, but you are wounded, and I know you yearn for your master. Even you have to agree that you are in no condition to fight, and I would not be able to live with the fact that you already have a master. He may miss you too. You may think it unlikely, but I would forgive you if you did such a thing to me. Because you are not just a great hunting dog or any other of the sort, for to me, you are a dear friend. In fact, you are almost human to me. Believe me, it is very hard for me to let you go, but I know it is the right thing to do."

But who will help you two when you go to Angband? Huan would not budge.

"Huan! This is just plain stubbornness! Beren and I can take care of ourselves. Really! So please just go home and forget about us. You have your own troubles to face with Celegorm. Go home!"

All right. I know I will regret this, but I will leave if you are going to badger me like that, Lúthien! I still will worry for you and Beren. Good-bye for the present! Believe me, I will be traveling with you two again soon enough! You will always have my blessings and my help whenever you need it!

She hugged him and he nuzzled her neck. Then he gathered up the freed slaves of the Isle of Sauron and began leading them back to Nargothrond even though he still had a slight limp. The refugees must tell the unhappy story of Finrod's death, he must face Celegorm, and others would guide those that had not come from the city. The thralls followed, some more reluctantly than others.

Lúthien sank to the ground, sad to see him go. Beren sat next to her and wrapped his arms around her. She closed her eyes.

"We have both lost a friend," she told him. "You, Finrod, and I Huan. I will never find a truer friend."

Beren stole a glance at Finrod's grave and bowed his head.

"May no such parting come between you and I, Beren," she said.

She had been reunited with him, and that had been what she was aiming at all along. She slept easily for the first time since Beren had left Doriath. Even the thought of Morgoth and the real quest could not hinder her sleep. No nightmares disturbed her rest, and Beren was right by her side, just as she had longed for.

"I did not wish any of this upon you," Beren said.

"Yet here I am alive and well and so are you. All is well. We can forget the road we have traveled and think of the road ahead."

"I will think of the road ahead, but I will not forget the road behind. You have seen Nargothrond," Beren said. "I was schooled there as a boy you know."

"Yes. I knew that very well. You told me, and I pride myself in my memory," she answered.

"And did you think it beautiful?"

"I found it very beautiful, but it was as nothing to be compared to my home in Menegroth. It was an imitation of the Thousand Caves. No more than that. But I speak harshly, and I did not have much of a chance to wander about the city. I am sure I might have grown to love it, had I not been locked away in a small chamber my whole stay!" Lúthien said bitterly.

"And Celegorm saw to that?"

"Ah yes. I had not known you were acquainted at the time."

"You refused him," he said, in the most delicate way he could think of without being obtuse. "So he was somewhat bitter. Celegorm is not accustomed to works of art refusing him."

"I told him I loved another. It was perhaps the wrong road to take. It was the truth when I said it, and true still. He told me..."

"Yes?"

"He told me that Man does not love as Elf-kind does. He says that they divorce often and are unfaithful to each other. Is that true?"

Beren sighed and answered, "The Elves call earth "Arda Sahta", the Marred World. Within its borders, nothing can be uninfluenced by Morgoth, and Elves and Men, who are made of Arda's matter, are all likely to suffer in some way. Man has ever been under his influence for a long while, for when we first came upon this earth, we had no one to guide us. It is so, Tinúviel, but there are men that are noble. They have one wife for one lifetime, rear their own children, wed their children for the best, and keep to one bed. I have known men, such as Gorlim, that died to keep such honor."

Lúthien nodded and said, "Celegorm spoke as though there was no good in Man at all. He absorbed himself in my complete safety. At least he treated me kindly, but his manner only made his betrayal all the more painful to me. I was shaken by Daeron's betrayal, but I trusted him, Beren. After my loved ones turned themselves from me, I thought I had found a great friend. I see now that it was naive of me to think he would aid me, and his spurious promise that he would be my guard as long as I came to Nargothrond with him, I should have known! I might have seen through his words, and I should have noted that he guarded his mind too well.

"But I was so glad to have such a wonderful lie that I believed what I was told. It is very difficult to lie to an Elf. We can easily discern a lie by studying the person's demeanor, body language, and eyes. No one can be dishonest unless they have made an art of it, and what kind of individual would make an art of telling fancy lies unless they used it for malicious use? I suppose I was too infatuated with him, under a sort of spell, the same spell that I had cast upon him. He was very beautiful, and his charm was like that of a snake's. I thought I had been blessed when he gave me his word, and I was attracted to his power and the wisdom of the years he has lived. He is a liar with the face of a choir boy!"

Lúthien frowned and let out a relieved sigh. She had been wishing to say these things for a long time.

"Of course I knew that Celegorm was cloaking his mind from me. Whenever I pressed him about the roads we might take on our quest, he would avoid my face and tell me that such matters were in more competent hands. He thinks I am no more than a child, and compared to him, maybe that is so. I hate him so for what he did. They used unnecessary force upon me. Suddenly they took hold of me and stole my cloak, and how could I defend myself against two infinitely strong beings such as Celegorm and his brother?"

"That is because you know nothing about swords," Beren explained. "Have you even held a sword?"

She scoffed, "Me? Having been raised by Thingol, you should understand that such a thing is unthinkable."

"What about the sickle dagger you carry with you?"

Lúthien drew her dagger out absentmindedly and answered cryptically, "You mistaken its purpose by its appearance, Beren. It is not my main defense. I maim but can rarely kill with it."

Beren paused and looked more closely at the knife. There was absolutely nothing extraordinary about it, but there was nothing truly extraordinary about her cloak either, unless it happened to brush your eyes...

He waved if off and said, "But you must learn the art of defense. How else do you think you can defend yourself if such another attack were to happen? You must learn the basics if you are to last ten minutes in such a place as we are going."

He rose to his feet and offered her his hand. She stared with her lips parted in wonder, and Beren was enchanted, as he always was with her, by such a simple expression.

"Come," he said. "You taught me to dance once long ago, and now I shall be the teacher."

"Dancing does not involve the chance of slaying someone."

"This is something that you must learn, Tinúviel."

She turned her face away, but Beren seized her hand and forced her to her feet.

"Beren, please!" she begged. "I cannot learn such a thing! I am not a shield-maiden!"

"But I shall make a she-warrior out of you yet! You turned me into an honest man, and in return I shall corrupt you!"

He laughed, but Lúthien looked confused and lost when he handed her his sword. She almost dropped it in horror, and it was a heavy thing. Her shoulders rolled forward and she was bent like a little old woman with the weight. Beren laughed again.

"I know that you are no weakling, Tinúviel!" he said. "Hold it up!"

"Stop laughing!" she said angrily.

She raised it a little.

"Good. Very good. You can lift a sword. Now try it with one hand."

"You cannot be serious!"

"Yes."

She dropped it several times, but after a few attempts, she held it with one hand.

"There. Now what should I do?"

"See if you can swing it," Beren instructed, backing away to give her room. "Be careful."

Lúthien tried to swing it and fell backwards. Frustrated, she cast the sword from her, and Beren fell backward laughing.

"Go ahead and laugh!"

"Try it again," he said with sudden sternness. "You shall do it again and again until you get it right!"

Lúthien sighed and snatched up the sword, determined to prove that she could successfully swing and thrust. If she could do that, no other instructing was necessary. That at least is what she told herself. Beren took the sword and showed her the correct way to hold it and motioned how to swing and thrust. How he loved teaching her! When he was satisfied with her progress, he raised up his spare sword, much shorter than the other but it would do.

"You are doing quite well, little bird," he said. "Better than I expected from a She-Elf."

She blushed and answered, "It is not something that I wish to be good at."

"Are you really going to stand there and tell me that the crowned princess of the Sindar, a people with some of the grandest armories of Beleriand, knows nothing of war-craft?"

"We do have grand armories. Some of those weapons came from Valinor, and I wandered the armories when I was a child to look at them. When Daeron had come to the age of training with blades, I would watch as the sword-master tutored him. The sword-master ignored my presence altogether until I had watched the fourth lesson. Then he took a special interest in me and ordered Daeron to leave. Then he let me grasp a little wooden sword. He said that I likely had natural skill since my father is one of the champions of Doriath and hinted that there could be more to it than that. I was also my mother's daughter. He offered me private lessons and promised my father would never learn of it, but I refused. I knew my father would not like it."

"Well, if you want us to survive the Quest and marry at last, you must learn how to fight," Beren reminded her. "I hope the master-at-arms was right. It would make my job a little easier. Raise your sword. Time to see how well you can use that against another being."

"Never could I be as good as you!" Lúthien cried in horror.

Beren smiled and said, "I was humiliated so many times when you taught me to dance. Constantly stumbling in front of you! It was degrading! Now I get my revenge! Now I have the chance to humiliate you! Start it slow. Remember the steps I taught you. It is just like a dance."

"It is not at all like a dance!"

"Think of it in that way and it may help."

Lúthien took a deep breath and they began. Beren counted as she thrust and he blocked, then he thrust and she blocked. They repeated this several times, each time making more speed and exerting more force and Beren gave her his appraisal.

"Very good," Beren said, withdrawing his sword suddenly. "Shall I give you a taste of real combat?"

"No! I am not ready for anything of the sort!"

"Too late!"

He swiped at her. She ducked and screamed.

"Beren, stop!"

"Block, do not duck! You must always try and be the offense! Defenders get tired very quickly unless they have endurance."

"You might have taken my head off!"

"Never, but a foe might be desiring to do just that."

Lúthien managed to block his next blow.

"I think I hate you!"

"Come on! Hit me!" Beren teased. "You learned well how to block but now you must thrust!"

"I do not want to harm you!"

"I can take anything. Come on!"

She dropped the sword on his foot purposely, something he had not expected at all, and he let out a cry and hopped up and down, holding one foot. It was Lúthien's turn to laugh. Then she picked up the sword from the ground.

"Ah no!" Beren dove at her with his sword, wrapped one arm around her shoulder and neck, and they were thrown backwards together.

"Careful!" Lúthien cried. "The sword! The sword! We might have been impaled upon it!"

Beren cast it away and turned to her with a wide grin. "Are you ready to face your doom?" he said.

They laughed, and Beren began covering her with kisses and stroking her face gently.

"Tomorrow, I shall teach you more. And the next day and the next until you are a proper warrior," he said.

"I wish you would teach me your native language, Beren," she whispered. "The tongue of Man that I know so little about."

He was surprised by the request. "Why do you bother, since your own tongue is richer and more beautiful?"

"I infinitely prefer the art of language than the art of war."

He considered and said at last, "I shall teach you."

Lúthien smiled and was luminous with excitement suddenly. She clasped his arms and began to dance about.

"Let me show you something! It is something very special! I would reveal it to no one but you!"

She grinned mischievously. Then she brought out a few wrappings from her things. She took away the leaf wrappings and revealed a few cakes. She broke away a small piece and put away the rest.

"I must save these. They are much too precious to waste," she muttered to herself, very grave.

"Cakes?" Beren said with a frown. "Cakes made in Doriath. Where did they come by them?"

"They are not just any cakes," she answered, deeply injured. "It is lembas. I would have you taste some."

"It is only way bread. The Elves of Nargothrond made such. It is pleasant and filling enough, I suppose. I have tasted enough of it."

"This is the way bread of the Sindar!" Lúthien told him. "My Mother made it herself, and it is superior to any of that of the Noldor's making. No mortal man has tasted such a morsel, and I am beginning to think that I should keep it so. You have insulted my Mother with your prideful tongue."

"I meant no insult to your mother, whom I hold in high esteem, mind. It was she that saved me when King Thingol interrogated me upon his throne. I give you my most sincere apologies."

She hesitated, and then said, "Very well. Come and taste this anyhow. It is an honor I give to you."

Beren sat beside her and she placed the food into his mouth. His frown quickly converted to a smile and he ate every crumb.

"That stuff is delicious!" he exclaimed. "I give your mother my greatest praise! What is it made of?"

Lúthien laughed with delight and answered, "That I cannot tell you. No human can know."

"Are they made with white magic?"

"I suppose you could say that, but I do not know what you mean by magic. Good magic is for the purpose of creating or preserving beauty," Lúthien explained, "whereas bad magic is used for deceit or to dominate the wills of others. But magic in general is only a means to quicken the process between the conception of thought and realization of effect. Magic is inherent. For example, say the word 'green' and it invokes the image of the color in a listener's mind. The process of invoking magic is to visualize the thought and speak it aloud to realize its effect. By saying the word, it makes the thought real."

"So that is all that magic really is? Then what is it when you perform miracles?"

"The Great Power, which is not magic at all, but the grace of the Valar."

"Do you not possess some of this power, Tinúviel?"

"I do," she said soberly. "And it is their grace, not steel, that we may need to succeed."

"What shall we do now?" Beren asked the question that they had both been dreading.

"We must delay the Quest," Lúthien answered. "If only so that we may heal mind and body and plan what we can."

"Where shall we go? The only truly safe place in this world is Doriath."

She ripped herself from his grasp and gave him a piercing look.

"I will never return to Doriath," she insisted, the memory of her first betrayal and imprisonment was still a bitter one.

"Then let us go to Brethil," Beren suggested. "A small remnant of my kin fled and created a little village there. They are the people of Haleth, distant cousins of mine. They would gladly take us in, I think."

"You mean Men?"

"Yes. They are close to the Girdle. I discovered them some time after I first came upon Doriath, but I did not wish to expose them under any circumstance to your people. I know now and I knew then how your father feels about mortals."

Lúthien smiled one of her luminous smiles and became as giddy as a child. She could not suppress her excitement.

"I get to see Men?"

"Not just men," Beren laughed. "But women and children as well."

Lúthien nodded, a broad smile upon her lips. She could barely restrain a girlish squeal of delight. She was going to see Men! Beren was the only one of his kind that she had ever met. Now she had the opportunity to dwell amongst them for a time. She could see their women, children, and elderly. If only her father could have known that his precious daughter was to live among mortals! Then she remembered that Brethil was part of Thingol's realm and near the Girdle of Melian. Perhaps too close. A whole community of humans was living so near to the Hidden Kingdom? She would never have guessed it.

Men multiply and increase, Celegorm had told her once when she was his prisoner, hateful words then, but now they rang true. Soon we shall be choked with them, like a yearling tree overtaken in its bed by a sudden growth spurt of weeds!

Her father had given leave for men to set up a temporary residence recently so long as they agreed not to disturb his folk, but he had no idea of the numbers. Certainly, if her father had known how large the settlement had grown and that they planned to remain there and increase permanently, he would have driven the poor folk away and razed their houses to the ground. He had long ago made an edict that Men were not allowed in his realm for any reason, though he gave none for their expulsion.

"These people of Haleth are Elf-friends, are they not?" she wondered how they might react to her.

"Of course!" Beren reassured her. "But few of them have actually seen your kind. Only veterans and noblemen had that prerogative. And none have laid eyes upon one such as you. Please forgive them if they stare."

"Of course! I am quite accustomed to the feeling of eyes upon me," she replied. "My very looks precede me, after all."

Beren led the way until they came upon a little wooden watchtower upon a small hill. Below it and on the other side of it, they knew, must be the village. There were three men in the tower keeping watch, speaking in a strange tongue and laughing lustily. They drank ale as it began to pour and sang at the top of their lungs, as if in challenge of the storm. So bold they were, just like her beloved Beren. She wanted a closer look, and she was so eager to do so that she threw back her hood and stepped out of the safety of the trees and began climbing up the hill before Beren could stop her.

The men did not notice her at once, so she froze and remained where she stood, oblivious to her danger. With her keen elvish eyes, she noticed every small detail. The three were all so distinctly different. The first was an elderly old man, but he still stood vigil in the cold and wet without a complaint and drank more heavily than the others. In fact, he relished it. His age was carved upon his face, but he was not ugly at all. His skin was wrinkled and rough. His hair was white as winter snow, eyes a very pale blue and crinkled at their corners. However, they shone just as brightly as the others'. He was frail, but his wisdom more than compensated for his lack of strength. The scars of a proud veteran were upon his face. He was a man that danced with time and her ally death. He led the dance until it was fate's turn to seal his demise.

The second man was a balding, middle-aged warrior. He was barrel-chested and muscular, though his remaining hair was auburn frosted with gray. He had the same eyes as the elder, and obviously respected him. Fresh scars, no more than several years old, were upon his neck where an enemy had almost slit his throat. That had been his narrow escape from death before his time. He had grown a large beard, though it was not long and tucked into his belt as the Naugrim wore theirs. It too, was auburn and flecked with gray.

Lastly, there was an untried youth. The boy was attempting to grow his very first beard. Only a few whiskers covered his chin. He had a rich head of auburn hair, and again, the same pale eyes. She guessed that these men must be a family. A grandfather, father, and son. There were no scars upon him that she could see, but she guessed that underneath his leggings, she might find the bruises and scrapes of a growing boy still. They all wore earthen colors, natural camouflage in the forest, but they believed there was nothing to fear.

At last, the boy looked in her direction and fumbled for his bow. Still undisciplined as well.

The others saw his movements and spoke in the language that she did not understand. Their eyes were stern, but flashed for a moment with amazement. The boy found his bow and gazed open-mouthed upon the beautiful phantom before them. Lúthien stood motionless in the rain, her hair loose and wet. She gazed up at them with startling gray eyes and smiled at them with a warm smile that radiated unconditional love. The spell of her beauty struck them hard.

Beren sprang before her and shouted to them in their own tongue, "Blessings to the folk of Haleth! I am Beren son of Barahir! I seek to dwell with you for a time, cousins!"

"And who is the woman?" they demanded.

She laughed and said, "I am no Woman, my friends, but I would like to meet one. Tell me, young sir, how old are you? Are you a child or a man?"

The boy stammered, "I am a man. I am fourteen!"

"An adolescent. And what is your name?"

He blushed crimson, "It is Bran son of Brac."

"You speak excellent Sindarin, Bran."

He beamed and stammered for a moment longer, then turned to his father for aid.

"If you are not a Woman, than you must be a She-Elf," Brac said.

"Not quite," she answered enigmatically.

"Milords," Beren bowed, "allow me to present to you Lúthien Tinúviel Princess of Doriath and daughter of King Thingol Gray-Cloak and Queen Melian the Maia. She has never met any of our folk and is most anxious to learn of us."

The men stood in their places, speechless at the announcement. Then, revealing the initiative of a leader, Brac beckoned to them.

"Follow me, milord. Lady," he bowed to her. "Bran, you remain here with your grandfather. I shall return in a moment. We must properly accommodate our honored guests."

"Yes, Father."

Brac came down from his post and led them past the fields of barely and rye and into the village. There were several hundred houses made of wood or reeds and roofed with straw, each with an herb and vegetable garden nearby. Some of the homes were unremarkable and unfinished. They were for the future generation of Men. Lúthien knew that the Laquendi would have been horrified to see that so much living wood had been cut for their shelters. The smells of animals, foods cooking, and smoke, the sign of civilized people, welcomed them.

The people in the village ceased all activity to stare at the strange pair, a She-Elf and a Man. Children stopped in their tracks to gape at them. It seemed to the simple people that a beautiful phantom was among them. It was hard not to notice the many pairs of eyes upon her, half mistrusting, half enamored, but Lúthien walked soundlessly onward with her head held up high and careful not to make eye-contact. Beren wrapped a protective arm about her and put on the mask of a wary warrior, though he feared nothing from Brac or his men. It was purely an instinct.

Brac stopped before a small, isolated cottage and said, "This place is empty. You may take up your lodging here. We offer our hospitality in exchange for your cooperation with our rules and your willingness to lend a hand. We do not have much, but we shall give all that we can," he glanced again at Lúthien, struggling for words, "and we shall try not to ask questions. You are strange folk. I ask how long do you plan to dwell with us?"

They exchanged glances, and Beren answered, "We shall stay no longer than a moon, we hope."

"And there are none searching for you that might do us harm if they found you?" Brac pressed.

Lúthien said, "We would never wish harm upon all of you. We would die before doing that, Master. We are very grateful for your kindness. Beren and I are quite travel-worn. We want only a brief respite from our cares."

Brac nodded and returned to his father and son. Lúthien then thought guiltily of the half-truth she had spoken. The Eldar could lie, but there was much less dishonesty because it was so hard to hide it for long. They could usually sense when someone was lying to them, and they had learned that truth or silence was often much more effective. After all, the truth could be easily twisted so that it was almost a lie, and so the Eldar had fostered the facade that they could not lie. It often proved a useful political tool.

She knew that more than one party was searching for them. Sauron may have returned to his Master by now, begging for a new form. Though he feared Morgoth, she knew that he could not possibly tolerate his wretched shape with no power of his own, nor could he escape his Master's disfavor, for long. The servants of the Enemy now knew she was in the Wild somewhere, as well as her potential. Angband would likely be emptied of scouts and spies to find her.

Celegorm was likely seeking her too. He was one of the greatest hunters in the known world and could not possibly pass up the chance to hunt his own kind and test his skill. Their very quest threatened his oath and position of power. He would not let the key to the Elvin-kings' thrones slip form his grasp so easily or allow himself to be so humiliated. He had promised her that he would have her as his bride. She did not fear his desire for her as much as she feared his lust for power and his terrible purpose caused by the Oath of Fëanor.

To top it all off, her father would never give up the search for his beloved. She wondered how far his scouts would travel before they gave up hope.

The lovers spent many weeks with the folk of Brethil, and Lúthien relished every moment of it. The couple agreed not to reveal anything about the Quest. Beren was certain that these poor, simple people would only send them away if they knew what they intended. They did not want the wrath of the Enemy to crush them for housing a daft She-Elf and a madman temporarily.

At last, Lúthien saw men, women, children and the elderly. Such interesting people mortals were. They came in all shapes and sizes. The men could be rugged and handsome like Beren or elfin and fair. Not all of them wore beards, and most of them had families. The elderly were full of wisdom and looked after the young as the young cared for them. The women were beautiful, and the children! Children were everywhere! Lúthien had never known such a privilege. There were always too few Elvin-children, even in Doriath where it was safe to have them. She yearned more than ever for a normal life with Beren, with their son or their daughter, playing with numerous playmates in a small village, careless of the world outside.

At first, Lúthien was treated with awe and fear. The men of the village were Elf-friends, of course, but knowing that she was the daughter of Thingol and a Half-Maia, they did not know what to make of her. There was little friendship between the Sindar and the Edain. They knew of Thingol's frightening edict forbidding any children of Man in his lands and feared they would be found out and destroyed. All they knew of the Eldar was what they learned from the Noldor, a very different tribe of Elves. They knew even less of the Maiar, and some worshiped them as gods. She gave her word that she would never reveal the colony to her father and reassured them that her father was not a tyrant. And so Lúthien was treated as a goddess. She was beautiful, powerful, even benevolent, and unapproachable.

As for Beren, he was no less an astonishing person. Bran and his people wondered to themselves: who is this man was that claims lordship over us and has the affection of this lovely Elvin-princess? Beren son of Barahir was reported dead during the Battle of the Bragollach, or so they had been told. Had he been saved by the Elf-princess, or even brought back from the dead? One wild tale after another was told. Thus, it was very difficult for Lúthien and Beren to make normal conversation. The villagers treated them with respectful courtesy.

Despite the reverence and cloak of dread that had been wrapped about them, they continued to do their part in the village. They helped tend to the crops and were eager to aid the villagers in all things. Beren brought game to Brac's table, and Lúthien looked after the children while their mothers were preoccupied and treated the ill. The villagers soon learned to trust them and even warmed to them.

"Do Elves ever die?" the children were full of questions. "How old are you?"

"Of course we can die," she answered. "We can be wounded mortally, just not as easily as mor... I mean, as easily as you. As for me, I am considered of one of the younger generations. I was born a few years before the Rising of the Sun and Moon. My father was born at the Waters of Awakening, and my mother is one of Ilúvatar's servants."

The children gasped in amazement. Such passionate and curious creatures man-children were, and so fragile. During their play they often cut or bruised themselves in a fall. Lúthien had to take special care with them. Unlike Elvin-children, they needed governance. And yet, they were such a joy. They allowed her to join in their games, and the villagers held a feast for their guests. There was singing and dancing, and Lúthien and Beren returned to their bed, forgetting for a moment of their sorrows and impending doom.

But their stay in Brethil was not without its shadows. The thought of the Quest was always upon them. Beren would awaken in the middle of the night with nightmares of his torture and losses in Sauron's Isle. They would lie together under the stars each night, wrapped in the same fur. They spoke briefly of what they might attempt to complete the Quest, but they seldom came to any conclusions. Each time they spoke of it, they became more doubtful as they listed the dangers and flawed plans.

During the time that they stayed, Lúthien grew fond of a certain family. There was a young widow named Púriel, her father Guerin, and her nephew Branagan. Púriel was childless, for her husband had gone before they could have children. She was beautiful, kind, and hardworking. Guerin was ailing, more like a child than a man. He was half-blind and half-deaf, and when he heard what was said, he forgot it most of the time. Lúthien often looked into his dull eyes and wondered if Beren would become like him one day and shuddered. He would grow weak and dispirited. He might even grow ill and die... She could never stay long in the face of death and decay. She did not like to think of Beren's demise. Despite his age, though, Guerin could, on occasions, speak up and say something utterly profound so that he seemed a man again. He was also good-natured, and obviously enjoyed the company of others.

"You are one of the Undying, aren't you?" Púriel asked Lúthien one day. "Is it true that Time can heal any hurt?"

"What kind of hurt?"

"Say, the death of your husband? You have all the time in the world to forget them, but do you?"

Lúthien stammered, "I-I do not know. I have not yet lost one that I love..."

Púriel laughed mirthlessly, "They say that the Eldar are all full of wisdom and sorrow, but you seem more to me like a little maid. Well, I do not believe the saying that time will heal your grief. I believe that time only heals the wound, but it does not draw out the poison. The poison goes inward until it reaches your heart and turns it into black ice."

"Did your husband die of a sickness?"

"No, he died on the battlefield defending the Noldor!" she answered bitterly. "And so now our line is dead save for Branagan, and who knows how long that child will be around?"

Lúthien was picking herbs for Púriel's kitchen when she felt a tap on her shoulder. She turned to see Branagan, a small boy about six years of age, standing before her with a bundle of many flowers in his arms. It looked as though he had made a little crown of them. She stooped before him, always delighted to interact with children. She had heard talk of this child, but had not spoken with him yet. He was a charming little boy with auburn hair and eyes of sky blue. From the look of him, he had been playing outdoors all day. His boots were caked with mud and his hair in tangles.

"Hello there, Branagan," she greeted him with a smile. "And what have you been up to?"

His eyes grew wide and he began rushing away.

"Wait, Branagan!" she called after him. "I wanted to talk to you."

When she spoke of the incident to his aunt that evening, she shook her head but said nothing. She was as silent as the boy had been. When he came to the supper table, Lúthien tried to speak to him again, but he once again dashed away.

"Did I do something wrong?"

It was then that old Guerin stirred from his corner, "Branagan cannot speak, milady. No more than can his dead parents. My daughter never told you, but before she took the boy in, his family lived elsewhere. Their little cottage was waylaid by outlaws. They slew his parents and cut out the boy's tongue to silence his cries."

"Men did this?"

She could not believe it. Her father had told her that Men did worse, but she had only half-believed the tales. Celegorm had spoken ill of the race too. She had seen nothing but goodness in the hearts of these villagers. Such behavior was common in Orcs, not Man.

"Aye. To our shame, it was our own kind. The boy was worth a ransom though, so they sent his tongue to his father's kin here as proof they had the child. The ransom broke the family coffer, but at least the boy is alive. For now."

"What do you mean? For now?"

"He had a sickness in his lungs. Our wise-woman says that no herb can cure it, only ease the coughing and wheezing. He grows weaker every day. He barely eats. In truth I do not blame the boy. I cannot chew food so well anymore, but at least I can taste it. Branagan cannot."

"But he is a child!" Lúthien protested.

Children were not supposed to grow deathly sick. A common cold, a fever, a rash, those were the sorts of illnesses children were wont to get. They were not supposed to die at six. By rights the old man should be the one ill. It made no sense to her. Finrod and Púriel's husband had died in battle. Guerin would die of old age. Those she could accept. But she had never heard of a child dying.

"You cannot imagine, milady. Half of the children born to a mother and father die within their first four years. Infants are as vulnerable as the old."

"And your children?"

The old man thought for a moment, "My wife bore to me five children. The first was a boy, stillborn. We never named him. The second was Gertrude, and she died in the cradle. Then there was Brandon who lived to be a man and was slain by those outlaws. Then there was Púriel and her twin Pate. Pate died at three when he fell and broke himself climbing trees. He was over fond of climbing if you ask me."

"Why did you never name the first child?"

Guerin shrugged, "Why name it? It never took a breath outside the womb. Giving it a name would only add more pain to the memory. My wife was grieved enough. We buried the little babes we lost. When we buried Brandon and Branagan came to us mute and orphaned, she lost her taste for life and death. It was not long before she was alying with her children."

"What robbed her of her life?"

"Her own hand."

Lúthien did not know what to say. The old man spoke true, but she could not imagine such pain.

"How do you cope with so much loss?" she had to know.

The old man smiled, "I think of them all every day. Even the unnamed one. I especially think of my wife. It has not been so long since she been gone. Sometimes when Púriel speaks to me I mistaken her for my Lily, or I might forget that Branagan is my grandson and I call him Bran. So everyone thinks I am daft or losing my wits. I let them think that. Perhaps then they will not be quite so upset when I am gone. I do not want to be gone yet though. I am hoping that my daughter-in-law will wed again and have children of her own so that something of my family goes on. Besides, no one can choose the hour of their death. My wife was too aggrieved to wait for hers."

He looked at the flowers upon her brow and smiled. He spoke again in a lighter tone.

"Did my grandson give you those?"

"Yes, I wanted to ask him why."

"Every spring, the villagers put on quite the festival to celebrate. They choose the fairest maid to be crowned the Queen of Spring. Every year it is a new girl. Spring is long since passed, but Branagan wished to crown you anyway. He is a shy little boy, made worse by his trauma. But he has always enjoyed the Spring Festival and admires pretty maids."

"He will not die. I will not allow him to die," Lúthien said with sudden determination.

Guerin laughed, "Silly She-Elf. Your race may be skilled in healing and live forever, but you cannot hope to know half of what mine know of death! What makes you think you can stop it? It is, after all, our gift by Ilúvatar."

"A cruel gift from some cruel deity!" she said with a resentment for Eru and the Valar that she had never known. "To give such a gift whether the receiver wants it or not! They cannot even choose when they receive it!"

And why grant death to one race and longevity to the other? she also wondered but did not say aloud. Why kill a baby in the womb and let an old man suffer long after? Why should it be the same with Beren and I? He will be as a stillborn and I will live on until his bones are dust.

"Branagan will not die," she said again. And neither will Beren.

Perhaps once the Quest for the Silmaril was through, they would discover a way to avoid the Doom of Man. If they succeeded at all. The grim facts said that they could not hope to do that.

And so Lúthien called often upon little Branagan. She used all of her healing arts, from herbs and spells to songs and cheer. The people thought that it was odd to see the strange maiden with the mute boy but saw no harm in it. The healers knew her efforts to cure the boy were futile but restrained their tongues. At least the boy had a friend in her. Few understood the orphan boy that could not talk.

"It is a wonderful thing you are doing for the child," Beren said. "But I fear he is getting worse. Surely you must see it."

"I know," Lúthien said sadly. "But I have grown to love the boy. Is that also a crime? They have told me that loving you is unnatural. Is wanting Branagan to live so desperately wrong?"

"No."

And as the weeks passed Branagan grew weaker. His coughs became more frequent. In his last days he remained in bed, too weak to rise and coughing constantly. Lúthien implored the Valar to spare him, but they seemed mute as well. She was praying when Beren interrupted.

"The boy is calling for you."

"How?"

"His aunt and grandfather tell me that he keeps pointing to the flowers you gave him and moaning. Just because he has no tongue does not mean he cannot make some sounds. He wants to see you, and the healers say he will not last long."

She rushed to his bedside. The boy managed to sit up in bed and reach for her. She lifted him into her arms, this broken boy who had lost his mother. It was likely that all he had ever wanted in his life was his mother. She rocked him and sang him a lullaby about sleep as she gave him the final herbs that would make him slip into soundless sleep. And as she wept she felt his grip upon her loosen, his breathing became slower. His heart beat became fainter. He closed his eyes and never opened them again. The color drained from his face, and his own warmth left him.

Púriel and Guerin wanted to hold him. Lúthien surrendered him reluctantly. And when she did she ran to the forest blindly, seeking the refuge of the trees, the earth beneath her feet, the stars in the sky. Beren came to her where she sat before the largest tree, weeping for the child that had died in her arms.

"You wanted him to live, I know," he said gently. "He has gone to his mother and father now."

"How do you know? No one knows the fate of Man beyond death!"

"We have to believe that we go on as well as our loved ones."

"But he was a child! He should be running about with the other children, whole and healthy. And his father should be there to teach him, and his mother to comfort him. He should have grown and had his own wife and children and lived to see their children and their children's children."

"You forget that he was mortal. And so am I."

"Yes, so are you. Will I have to watch the color drain from your face like that sooner than I thought? Will you be in my arms, or will you be cut down by the Enemy? Will you catch a cough in our travels and never be cured? A cough is what killed that poor child. It can kill a man as well. Is there no escaping it?"

"None that I know of."

"How long would Branagan have lived if he had not been ill? What is a Man's lifespan?"

"Bëor lived to be over a hundred. The Edain are known for their long lives. Some candles burn out before others."

She turned to him, tears in her eyes, "I wish that I was mortal. Yes, mortal. I wish that I had never been born as one of the Eldar. I should have been born in a small village amongst Men. Then I would not be Princess of Doriath, always under the eye of my people and sought after by princes. There is no less evil in Men than there are Elves. I have learned that lesson well. It is only masked and painted over prettily. I could have a simple life amongst simple people. I could love you without fear of retribution, and I would know that if you died… I at least did not have to wait forever to rejoin you. Time is different for Men. The Eldar do not make many calendars or keep much track of how they spend time because they have so much of it. Men make use of their time because they know that only life is important."

Beren was astonished, but could not help smiling, "Many of my people would prefer to live forever as the Eldar can. You wish you were human now, and yet you feared me the first time you met me."

"I was ignorant. Now I have seen your people, Beren. I cannot say that I understand them, but I have come to love them. I shall never forget the lessons they have taught me. Nor Púriel and Guerin. Nor Branagan. But I know we cannot remain here forever, and we endanger those around us. We must leave soon."

Beren hesitated, then said, "Tinúviel, what will become of you should I perish? What would you do? Where would you go?"

"I have wondered those same questions thousands of times, and each time I came up with a different answer. None of them were pleasant to my mind, so I will not repeat them. All I know is that we must think of now. Branagan is dead, and the quest is yet unfinished. That is enough to mull over for now."

"When I awoke in that pit to find you there, you lay as one dead."

"So did you."

"We had both thought each other lost then. Would you have left that pit if I had truly been dead?"

Lúthien hated these pointed questions and knew he would not like the answers. Instead she said, "Branagan was six years old. If the Valar had been generous perhaps we might have been born of the same race and had a child like him. He was a healthy, happy boy before those outlaws. I could read his heart, and his eyes were always shining, though no one could see it. Words are wind. Huan and Branagan could speak but little, but their eyes say much and more. As do yours and mine. Read my eyes, Beren."

"I can see them now."

"And what do they say?"

"That you may have never left that pit."

Branagan was buried the next morning. For some strange reason, the village seemed emptier and even quieter. The boy had meant more to the villagers than they had known, despite being mute and shy. Lúthien was far less cheerful, and Beren seemed troubled. For several days the couple did nothing and said less to each other. A tension was between them, and a reluctance to leave. They were safe here for now. The villagers would never turn them out, and nothing but perils lie ahead. They meant to leave, but leaving was hard.

Finally Beren announced that they would be leaving. They would burden the villagers no more. They had much to do before they returned to where they belonged. The villagers all gave them their blessings. They gave them ample supplies, more than they needed in truth. They took all that they could carry since they had not the heart to refuse. Lúthien visited Púriel and Guerin one last time. They had a special gift for her. A garland of flowers for her hair.

"I promise that we will return if we can," she said. "Beren and I or not at all."

"You will always be welcome," Púriel answered.

But as Lúthien went out the door, Guerin whispered, "You know you cannot keep your lover forever either."


	16. Chapter 16 An Unwelcome Reunion

Nargothrond fell under a strange spell when Lúthien escaped. There was a tension and fear among the populace. Both Orodreth and the Sons of Fëanor sent out search parties, but their searches were fruitless. Orodreth always reported back to reassure the realm that although she had not been found, all was well. There were no evidence that she had been captured or killed. Celegorm and Curufin were strangely absent, but rumors were whispered that they had failed to guard Lúthien and that Huan was also missing. This frightened the small folk all the more, for Huan was known as well as the prophecy regarding him. Since he could not be destroyed by anything more or less than the mightiest of wolves, he guaranteed a certain amount of confidence and security for Nargothrond. Because Celegorm never denied the rumors and Huan was not seen at his side, it was assumed that it must be so.

Those that had once admired the brothers were puzzled by their behavior. Orodreth's supporters took courage in their hearts and their numbers grew. Those that had silently despised the brothers now criticized them openly and demanded to know the true purpose for the captivity of Lúthien and why their own hound was thought responsible for her escape. Was it possible that it was part of some grand scheme between the four of them? If so, it was a perilous game to play. None of it made sense, it was unnatural and suspicious.

Thingol's messengers arrived to the city just as the first of the refugees from Sauron's Isle did. Among the messengers was Mablung and Gelmir. Arminas recognized them first and they realized a grand opportunity. He clothed them in the garb of the liberated thralls and they joined their ranks so that they were taken for refugees and not the eyes and ears of Thingol and Melian. The wardens of Nargothrond only recognized those prisoners that they personally knew and, knowing they would each have much to say, sent all of them straightaway to Orodreth and the council. What was more, Huan of Valinor himself had led them there which raised more questions than answers.

Celegorm and Curufin were present at the council, and when Huan entered with the thralls, Celegorm was relieved, but none could say that he was glad. The hound did not look up at his master but sat at his side. Celegorm did not know what to make of his sudden return. Now was not the time to question him about Lúthien, unfortunately. The council was concerned with the prisoners first.

Curufin studied each face and frowned, "Not all of these waywards are our folk. We should have only brought into the city those that we know."

"Would you then have let them idly wander the long miles without seeing to their needs or hurts or even providing shoes upon their sore feet for the road?" Orodreth snapped, his patience with the brothers had long since worn thin. "Nargothrond is not so exclusive and indifferent to those in need as you may have been in your own lands. These people have suffered enough at the hands of Sauron! I will treat them as I would my own brother. One may have information of his fate as well as Beren and the company that set out with them."

"And what of Sauron's Isle?" the council asked. "We must know how they all escaped from that foul place. We occasionally get an escaped thrall even from the Thrall Vaults of Angband, but never so many all at once! Something extraordinary has happened."

Food and drink was brought out and served to the refugees, healers were sent amongst them, and fresh clothing was provided too. The brothers were anxious to question them concerning Finrod and Sauron. Orodreth would have allowed those that had family within the city to seek them first, but Celegorm suddenly interrupted.

"You four there! You look strangely familiar."

"As do you," one of the strangers looked up at him.

"Why do you not partake of the charity offered and stand apart from the others?"

"We come not for charity but for tidings of all that has passed. On our way here and waiting upon your good graces we have heard the small folk at their gossip and questioned a good deal more and we have become confused. Most concerned yourself, Prince Celegorm, and your brother."

Curufin leaned forward at that, but Celegorm made no sign. There was an uncomfortable silence. All eyes were upon the brothers and the four refugees. Mablung sensed their discomfort, however, and prodded more. Orodreth was smiling ear to ear, thoroughly enjoying it all.

"They say that you have a fancy for the throne."

Celegorm let out a calm cold laugh, "The small folk may desire me crowned, but it is not known yet if Finrod is dead or alive and no one sits upon his throne. It would be arrogant to do so. Orodreth was named steward, but not his successor, and should he be unfit and the crown offered, I would not be proud and refuse it. After all, by rights it should pass to us. We are of the eldest line."

"What if I told you that Finrod were dead and that with his last breath declared you his heir?"

"I would need only three witnesses to confirm it to be true."

"And what if he had declared Orodreth instead?"

"Then Nargothrond would be in peril, for I do not believe him the wise choice."

"And what if Finrod declared you a traitor?"

Curufin lurched to his feet with a hand on his hilt while Mablung and his own unveiled and strung their bows in a small series of graceful gestures.

"Stop this!" Orodreth roared. "Who are you and what is the meaning behind this?"

"I am Mablung of Doriath and now speak with Thingol's voice! The Sons of Fëanor are traitors in our eyes and we have come for our heir! She is Thingol's alone to give, and we will not suffer to give her to the arms of any of the sons of Fëanor. Where are you hiding Princess Lúthien? What terrible things have you in store for her and for Nargothrond? Orodreth! If ever you loved your uncle and cared for the friendship of the Sindar, aid us in our cause! This is your last chance! Return Lúthien to us now or forever sever your ties with Doriath! And if you refuse and we are slain or held captive, there shall be war!"

"How dare you act as spies and thieves!" Curufin hissed.

"We have done nothing but observe under the banner of travelers rather than royal messengers and found more truth than ever we could have through normal means. Now bring Lúthien!"

Celegorm laughed again. It had been to their fortune that Lúthien had escaped after all, "I fear that you are too late."

"You cannot mean that you have already wed locked her!"

Now Mablung had half a mind to slit Celegorm's throat himself. The thought of Lúthien who was to him almost one of his own daughters forced upon was too much.

"Lúthien is lost."

Mablung's jaw dropped open comically and then he fumed, "LOST? You lost the princess? You…" he stopped himself and glared.

"But how?" Gelmir demanded.

Curufin glanced at his brother, and Celegorm answered, "Lúthien Tinúviel escaped from Nargothrond just recently."

"Escaped?" Mablung stormed. "Lúthien escaped from this city, this city, which is supposed to be the most heavily guarded fortress in all of Beleriand? How did she escape? When did she escape? What have you done about it?"

"We believe she was aided by another. One of our own in fact," Celegorm said with a piercing glance at Huan. "My brother and I have never ceased searching for her since."

"There is no need, Celegorm, you have done quite enough! The least that you could have done was guard her safely and prevented her escape! If you loved her so, why could you not contain her?"

"I kept her under guard. I did all I could to keep her here until some began to call her my prisoner!" Celegorm defended.

"You child of Morgoth. Because of you, our princess could be dead now!"

"Let your king know this then: If I find Lúthien before your people do, she shall be my wife. That is a promise."

Mablung said heatedly, "If it were not for the fear of the curse of the Kinslaying, I would kill you now! "

"So be it!" Celegorm sneered. "The Sindar have made bitter enemies of us!"

But Orodreth said, "My people shall aid in the search for your heir. By now, all of the elf-kingdoms shall be searching for her."

"Lúthien Tinúviel is not lost!" one child stood up among the refugees. "She is the one that freed us all with the aid of the great hound at your feet."

"It is true," the other refugees confirmed what the boy said. "Finrod is dead, we fear, but Lúthien subdued Sauron, reclaimed Minis Tirith, and found Beren alive!"

There was an uproar at this of shock and amazement. There were cries of grief for Finrod and some turned to each other and remarked at Lúthien's deeds. None were more shocked than Celegorm. He turned sharply to Huan.

"What are these wild stories? Did you indeed release Lúthien behind my back and rescue my sworn enemy?"

The hound made no response but pretended to have fallen asleep long ago. Celegorm had half a mind to kick him then and there.

Mablung laughed mockingly and said, "A single maiden has done something that the Sons of Fëanor could not, deemed the mightiest of princes. They insisted that it could not be done and did not even attempt to save their liege lord though they surely could have prevented his death. If only Thingol had not delayed his daughter, and if the Noldor had not allowed her captivity, she might have even had time to save King Finrod. We have all paid dearly for doubting her, none more so than Finrod. And yet the brothers admit his death would surely be their victory and Celegorm would wed Lúthien against the will of her father and probably her own to cement his claim and subdue Doriath herself."

Celegorm and Curufin realized that their plot was revealed. Someone shouted for their immediate arrest and grabbed his sword, backed by Mablung, and all cried out for revenge for allowing Finrod and his companions to die and for Lúthien's honor. But Orodreth spoke and for the first time spoke with the voice of a king.

"They must not be slain, for some of my own blood would spill upon the floor and Finrod's too. The spilling of kindred blood will bind the curse of Mandos more closely about us all, and it is evil. Yet here after, the Sons of Fëanor shall be granted neither bread nor rest within my lands. I charge you, Celegorm and Curufin, with kidnapping, high treason, and provoking needless war. I know not what else to call it. Your lies have been uncovered. You are to leave Nargothrond and return to your own lands within twenty-four hours! Little love shall there be between my people and yours, Celegorm. Do not show your smiling face in these lands again, or sooner or later, someone shall kill you and your brother! Flee while you still can."

Let it be so!" said Celegorm and his eyes were burning with wrath, but Curufin smiled.

"Then we shall leave for our own lands and our own kin, and we shall take those that are still faithful to the house of Fëanor," he said. "Good luck on your search for the princess, although, you shall never find her."

"None of my people shall go with you," Orodreth replied, laughing. "The curse of Mandos lies heavily upon you two."

"And the curse of Fëanor shall lie seven times over upon you and both your kingdoms, Thingol and Orodreth!"

The brothers gathered up whatever folk they could, but Orodreth spoke the truth. Only those that originally served the Sons of Fëanor answered their call. The citizens of Nargothrond cursed them to their face. Curufin went to fetch his son, Celebrimbor, and demanded that he come with him and his kinsman, but the young Elf refused.

"Do you think that I would so eagerly follow in your ways?" the youth asked.

"What ways? They have no substantial proof for their accusations. We did not murder Finrod. He killed himself listening to that mortal. We never harmed Lúthien either."

"Evil ways, father, and I saw you strike Lúthien myself. I was loyal to Finrod, and I will now be loyal to Orodreth. I was once loyal to you, but no longer. Alas! No longer! I am not your son. Now leave while the vengeful are stayed!"

"Nonsense. You are my son, and I shall not let you stay here. You are coming with me to Himring to join your uncles there."

Celebrimbor fumbled at his belt for his sword and answered, "Please. I do not want to kill you, so leave now. The least I can do is pray for you when I remember you. There may yet be hope for you. Now, I have said my farewells. I could not bear to do it again."

Curufin was stunned into silence. His own son had rejected him, and then, a great fire of hate was flamed in his heart. Celebrimbor remained in Nargothrond and was not ostracized for his father's deeds. He became in later days the same Elvin-smith that forged the Three Rings of Power.

"Beren? Beren, where are you?" she cried, springing to her feet.

"Over here!" she heard him answer.

"Where?"

"At the stream!"

She joined him where he sat. He was very silent, and for several long breaths they merely watched the stream flow by noisily.

"I had to come here and think. I have a grave decision to make," Beren said grimly.

"What is it that you are thinking about, Beren?" she asked.

"Honestly, I was thinking about what would happen if I were to lose you again."

"Aw," Lúthien laughed. "Really? That is so sweet of you."

She leaned in to kiss him, but Beren frowned and rose to his feet. Lúthien's smile faded.

"Beren, what is it? Why are you drawing away from me? What have I done? I am sorry if I laughed-"

"Listen, Tinúviel. I am not angry with you, and I am not drawing away from you. When I told you that I was thinking about what I would do if I were to lose you, I was being dead serious."

"What do you mean if you were to lose me? I thought this was your quest, therefore, I should worry for you."

"That is not true. You want to come with me to Angband, of course?"

"Well, I cannot leave you alone!"

"I love you for wanting to come with me, but I must admit," Beren told her with a sigh. "It would kill me if Morgoth were to capture you. Chances are, he will eventually destroy you. That is why I have been thinking..."

"What? What have you been thinking?" Lúthien asked.

"I am wondering if we should stay here like wild beasts in the forests together, or if I should risk the Quest. We would bear much shame and regret if we chose the first, especially me. I cannot allow one so fair or one as royal as you to live the way I lived for so long as a man; no more than a boy, actually. I want to complete the Quest and attempt to bring back a Silmaril, but I am not sure if I want you to come with me."

"You mean that you would go alone?"

"Yes. That is exactly what I am saying."

"What?" Lúthien could not believe her ears.

"I might send you home. Home, to the land of Doriath. Home, to where you belong."

"Send me home? Send me away from you?"

"Yes. Yes, in fact, I have already decided. I am going to send you back to Doriath. This quest is too dangerous for you."

"And yet it was I that rescued you from the pit and cast down mighty Sauron from our lands!

"With Huan's help. I will take you home."

"Beren, no! How can I let you go on alone? You will have no one there to help you when the time comes. No one can pass through the halls of Morgoth alone without being caught."

"Tinúviel, I am but a mortal! I cannot change fate!"

"Perhaps not. Certainly not alone. But together, you and I, we can change fate."

"We are not challenging fate alone! We might be challenging pure evil and divinity! Morgoth is much more than anything you could possibly come up against. He is the father of evil, and you cannot fight him. Sauron was a sorcerer, but Morgoth was his master. Morgoth is almost a god! Besides, I know I should be angry with you for coming after me to face Sauron! You risked more than your life out there, but I cannot be angry with you. I love you too much, and that is another reason why I will not allow you to come with me to face Morgoth."

"How could I have not come for you while you were deep in a pit and near death? Was I supposed to wallow in grief or whimper like a little girl?"

"I admit it: I would have done the same for you, Tinúviel, but your father sent me on this Quest to prove that I was worthy of your love. If I am constantly putting you into danger by allowing you to follow me, I am not worthy of you. You almost got yourself killed coming here. I cannot stand the thought of you in such peril. You may be able to sleep soundly now, but I have not been able to sleep since we came to the lands of Sauron. At first, I was dreaming of what may be happening to you in Doriath. Now, I have nightmares at the thought of all the danger you put yourself into coming after me and of the danger you are all too willing to face for me now, and it is tearing me apart." "Beren, you are not making any sense of what you are saying. Who is speaking to me now? You cannot be the Beren that I once knew!"

"Perhaps I have changed. Perhaps I am not as selfish as I was before."

"You say that Morgoth is too much for me," Lúthien argued. "Think of all the dangers I have been through combined! Every step I took to find you! If that does not match to Morgoth, then I do not know what does. Even if Morgoth is too much for me, the danger is ten times worse for you, and I am not going to leave your side ever again. I already made the mistake of letting you go without me into peril once. I will not make that mistake again."

"Through half of the dangers, you were in safe lands and-"

"Safe?" Lúthien laughed grimly. "Beren, I was not even safe among my own family!"

"But none would have caused you harm. The other half of the time on your journey, you had Huan to protect you. So go back to your people. I shall end the Quest myself. I can promise you that."

Lúthien snickered. Her voice steadily began to rise as she said, "The last time you made a promise like that, and you were torn from my arms, you ended up in one of Sauron's pits with a wolf! I was the only one upon this earth that could save you and I did! You think anyone else will come to you once you are lost in the halls of Angband where there is neither hope nor light! Your allies are dead! Finrod is gone. Only I remain, and I will not be got rid of so easily!"

She paused for breath, and Beren watched her as she fumed. He could not help himself. A small smile crept upon his lips. She seemed to have changed so much since their happy days in Neldoreth. She had once been a sweet and innocent maid, her father's sheltered pet and an ornament to her realm. Now she was more like to a fierce shield-maiden, perilously beautiful with an iron will. For a moment he was afraid that she had also developed a heart of ice.

He reached out and she drew away for a moment, then she flung herself into his arms. He began stroking her face. Her skin was smooth and soft, but he knew that underneath that softness, there was a spirit of omnipotent strength. He wondered if it had always been so. Then he remembered that she had given him Iavas, her wild stallion, to ride, and she had faced Orcs when she was a little girl and barely escaped from them. She had often left Menegroth in secret for years against her father's orders, simply to dance beneath the sacred moon and stars.

She faced me too, Beren thought with a smile, despite her father's warnings. She had sought to understand what she feared, and she had grown to love me, why I have yet to understand and probably never will.

Lúthien stood on tiptoe and kissed him, and he saw that she had not yet lost that sweetness and innocence. Despite the betrayals and the ordeals, she was indeed the same person he loved.

"Yes," he said tenderly. "You will not give up without a fair fight, and I admire you greatly for your courage, Tinúviel. You have perhaps more courage and certainly more hope than I have for this mad Quest, and I love you for wanting so desperately to come with me, but I cannot suffer it. This is not your Quest, but mine alone, and the burden is mine alone, and the choice is mine as to who I may allow to come with me or not."

"Do you at last realize that I have great hope for you and that I truly do love you? That is why I will not leave you. You cannot send me back any longer. We have gone too far upon the road, and we are together now. Why must we separate again? Our last parting was more than I could bear!"

"If you come with me, you might be making a parting from your kindred and your old way of life forever."

"I knew, of course, what I could be risking in order to love you from the beginning; indeed since the very moment that I first met you. I anguished over you, and I knew that I might be sacrificing even my immortality. But that does not matter now, for I made my choice long ago."

"I will not let you sacrifice so much!"

"Too late."

Beren opened his mouth, but he realized there were no words, and Lúthien kneeled before his feet and surprised him.

"My Father gave you a choice, Beren, that you would attempt the Quest by your own free will or not. He has no power over you. Therefore, why go at all? As long as you do not continue, I shall leave and return to Doriath, though you would have to clap me in chains, for I no longer give in to begging, and I will not leave you. We could... We could... We could stay here."

And then Lúthien looked up at him suddenly, a hopeful look in her face. She had contrived something just then.

"We could stay here in the forest of Brethil, Beren," she said in a sweet voice. "We could stay here forever. We could make our home here and live together in peace and not have to trouble with the Enemy, or with my Father, or any other concern of The Marred World at all! This is a fair domain, and it is still untouched by evil. It is the perfect place to settle down, you and I."

She kissed him then, and he smiled. Perhaps they could stay in happy exile, for he did not dare to even dream of succeeding and winning a Silmaril.

After all, he thought to himself. It is she that I have always desired, not the Silmaril. He would be with Lúthien in this way, and she would be safe. But he knew this could not be.

Beren hardened his heart, and he said, "That would only cause us shame."

"Then we must relinquish the Quest, and notice that I said we, for I am not leaving you! I am not!"

"Did you ever think that if you were to go home-"

"I am not doing it! I will not leave you!"

"You would see your mother and father again! Your people? You would even see Daeron. You told me that you were worried about him, and that he loved you. If I were in his place, I would be searching the entire Wild to find you. You could end his search for you. All you have to do is go home. At least then I shall have the small comfort of knowing that you are safe. I need someone to go to Thingol and tell him that I am alive and fit to redeem my oath. You can do that for me."

"My Father would probably send assassins after you at that news! And you know that the moment I arrive, they may marry me off to Celegorm? I may meet the princes there waiting for me!"

"What?"

"My Father had been looking for a new suitor for me! What do you think he will decide when Celegorm tramps in there and makes vows under heaven to keep me safe and coveted as his wife! What would you be able to do about that if he took me as his bride? Do you know what I would do?"

Beren did not answer. He shook his head.

"You know, Tinúviel, maybe it would be better if you did marry Celegorm," he said at last.

"What? Beren, what are you saying! How could you come up with such absurd notions? Perhaps you were down in the dark for too long!"

"Celegorm loves you, and he is your own kind. He is also a prince," Beren said with an effort. "It makes perfect sense; he is your equal. Perhaps our love was never meant to be."

"Our love never meant to be? Us not equal? Perhaps that is true the way you think you could send me away like this! After all we have been through, you doubt our love? Do you love me at all?"

Beren suddenly pulled her to him and kissed her passionately.

"Does that answer your question? I love you more than anything in this world. You have always known that. Never doubt it! I may even love you too much. You love me too much. A sorry thing was my first love for you, the innocent hope of a child that scarcely knows what he has found. But the days lengthened and in our precious moments I learned at your gentle hand how to give you of myself entire, to deserve your love, or so I dreamed. How we laughed and sang in those months of bliss, when we walked together among the tees and the golden elanor, and lived a lifetime in a single season! But do you see that I still fear our meetings, fool that I am? That one day I shall come to you, and you will shun me like yesterday's fruit, left to shrivel on the vine, not worthy even to fall at your feet? See; you can always reduce me to a timid, trembling thing, who have commanded armies and slain many foes. Oh to be worthy! I fear that even now I have not earned your esteem, fairest. Your footsteps dance like sunlight on the new rain until the world dances with you."

"I could never love you too much, Beren. In fact, I still am not sure if I love you as much as I should. You risked your life for me, and that is why I will never leave you, no matter what you say or do. You know as well as I that I have no love for Celegorm. He is far too powerful and power seeking. Compared to him, I am but a child. I do not care if they have me wedded to an Elf such as King Finrod and make me the most powerful queen upon all the earth! The point that I am trying to get through that thick head of yours is that I will not leave you and nothing you say will dissuade me of that!"

"But, Tinúviel, there are Balrogs there. There are treacherous mazes filled with monsters and traps of every kind. If you were to be caught, which is more than likely, Morgoth has quite a museum of torture devices for his prisoners. He would set you in one of those just to hear the sound of you screaming!"

"Is that supposed to frighten me?" Lúthien answered boldly.

"I had hoped it would, but you are too fearless. It is your one flaw. But let me tell you a little something about Morgoth. He captured Gelmir, brother of Gwindor and then put him to death in front of Eithel Sirion, but he did not just put him to death. He called all the hosts of Elves to witness and had Gelmir brought out and chained him upon an altar. I was there with my father, not yet full-grown. Then several Orcs picked up large, rusted saws, and they maimed his body. First, they cut off first his legs, and then his arms, and then they ripped open his breast and took out his beating heart. I think he suffered until then, and they chopped away his head."

Lúthien winced. "I knew of Gelmir's execution. I know also that it was a provocation to the Elves. It worked. That was when the Battle of Bragollach began."

"Now do you still wish to come?"

"Of course."

"But you cannot!"

"Behold!" Lúthien cried, her voice commanding, and she seemed suddenly to grow taller and more menacing.

Then Beren realized, She is the daughter of a Queen and a Maia.

"The choice has indeed fallen upon you now, Beren! You must choose to relinquish your quest and challenge the might and power of Morgoth or take up a life of wandering, as a wild beast, as you put it, hunted by his servants forevermore so that you shall never be free of evil. But wherever you go, Beren, and whatever road you choose, I want you to know this: I will follow you there. I shall pursue you to the ends of the earth and to the world beyond. Believe me, I will follow you, and our dooms shall be alike."

They were both silent after Lúthien had said this. Beren was pondering everything Lúthien had said, and she was waiting for his answer. At last, Beren was too overwhelmed to argue, and when she opened her mouth to say something, he stopped her by kissing her.

"I will be awake all through the night now," he murmured. "But I think I should begin the hunt, or we will have nothing to eat."

Then Beren took up his bow, but Lúthien frowned.

"Go on and avoid me and delay the choice further!" she said heatedly. "I am tired of this debate, and I expect an answer when you come back!"

Beren walked into the trees while Lúthien dipped her hands into the water to wash her hands and splash her face. The water was cold, so she puffed and spluttered, but she felt refreshed.

Then Lúthien noticed something and stared into the water. She saw the reflection of a face, but it was not Beren's. She gasped and almost fell into the stream in her astonishment.

It was Celegorm and Curufin.

Lúthien sprang back from Celegorm and his brother, splashing water. She felt her feet in the cold water and shivered. She began breathing hard, and she quickly realized that Celegorm and Curufin had blocked her way. Then she cursed.

"Well, well, well. It is pleasant to see you again, Lúthien," the Elvin-prince said with phony cheerfulness, locking eyes with her. "You look more beautiful than I remembered. This is a wonderful reunion! I have heard that you have done quite a lot since our last meeting!"

Lúthien gave him a dark look and she said, "I had hoped that since I escaped from your webs of deceit, I would never have to look upon your face again!"

Celegorm began counting off his fingers, and his voice became filled with mockery, "You have befriended a Wolf-Hound, slaughtered Draugluin the wolf-lord as well as the sorceress, cast down Sauron, seized back Minis Tirith and rescued your pathetic lover. Tell me: Where are you and Beren headed for now? Surely you do not wish to gain more glory by going to Angband? Do you think to cast down Morgoth himself in the same way?"

"The Quest is not yet fulfilled."

Celegorm dropped his mockery. He urged his horse forward. Lúthien took a step back. "You cannot be serious," he said. "You have achieved many great things, Princess. It was my hound that aided you and doubtless did most of the fighting, but I have heard your magics were essential. Indeed, all the Eldar shall be grateful to you, a maiden who reclaimed for us one of our strongholds and cast down one of the greatest servants of the Enemy. I can now truly consider you my equal. I have fought in many battles but never vanquished such foes in one swift stroke as you and Huan did. You have put yourself among the greatest of the Eldar. Is that not enough?"

"How in the name of Valinor did you find us?"

"Happenstance this time. Ironic. The one moment I am not looking for you, my brother and I chance upon you on our road to the rest of our brothers."

"So you are not to be crowned King of Nargothrond after all?" Lúthien took great pleasure at his misfortune.

"No. Our plot was foiled thanks to you!" Curufin said bitterly. "Now we are exiles. Only our brother Meadhros will receive us now."

"Then why accost me in this way? I am worth nothing to you now."

"Did you think that I lied when I told you that I wanted you? And did you think that I would not pursue you still? Besides, we can make use of you yet. Your father has sent his word, Lúthien. You are to be my wife and we can restore our former power through you."

A surge of anger and dread swept over Lúthien at this and she paled a little. Could it be that her father might have approved of Celegorm? Was she merely an ornament to his kingdom? Did he not love her above all else and set her above all the princes of Beleriand? Could it be that he was tempted with Celegorm's power, the power of his strength and voice? Did he think that she loved Celegorm and would be happy with him? Surely he had been deceived by Celegorm's messages. Thingol hated the Sons of Fëanor!

Her doubts vanished like a puff of smoke. She shook her head, "No. You are only lying."

"I do not lie, for it is the truth. I told him that if I found you first, we would be wedded at once. Now come with me. I had hoped that you would be alone, but we saw you speaking with Beren just a few moments ago. He wishes to leave you?"

"He does not want to hurt me," Lúthien corrected.

"It is a shame," Celegorm said with a wry smile. "After all you have been through, he wants to abandon you? He will leave you again, and this time, there shall be no reunion."

"NO!"

Celegorm held out his hand. "You cannot escape from me a second time."

"Oh, no?" Lúthien drew her new sword, a blade the men of Brethil had fashioned for her. "I know how to use it well now. Beren has taught me."

Celegorm and Curufin scoffed at her. The blade seemed dull compared to their gleaming swords of Noldoli craft.

"You know that the more you resist me, Lúthien, the greater my desire is for you? You cannot flee from us. You and Beren are upon foot, but we are mounted. I am not leaving without you."

"In the end you will, and not without several hurts! What have you done to Huan?" she demanded. "Celegorm, you were always mistreating him! What have you done to him?"

"He is over there," Curufin answered, pointing.

Huan was a few yards away, watching with growing anxiety. Lúthien's heart grew lighter at the sight of him. He was pacing and watching Lúthien. His eyes pleaded with her to take Celegorm's hand.

He would never harm you, he said with his thoughts. But I know the blood-song is upon him. He may take a life still. I cannot help you two, though I love you. There is no more you can do.

She shook her head at him and communicated forgiveness. He whimpered.

"Call for Beren," Celegorm suddenly ordered her and there was a strange light in his eyes.

Lúthien could read his thoughts as though he were speaking them aloud. She felt the malice in him so strongly that she was petrified, and even a fool that did not have the ability to read hearts would soon guess at his plan. She knew that the sound of her cries would be Celegorm's trap for Beren.

She said desperately, "This is between you and I. Leave Beren out of it. If you must have me, then I shall go with you back to Nargothrond willingly. So be it! But leave Beren out of this!"

"I am afraid that I cannot do that even for you, my beloved," Celegorm said soothingly, brushing her dark hair away from her face. "I cannot. While that Man lives, he shall be a trouble to you and me. I cannot have a wife when her lover is still alive, nor can I allow a thief to go free. Call for Beren! It shall be as quick and as painless as possible."

"Curse you!"

Celegorm pivoted her toward him and pulled her into a forced kiss, and as he kissed her, he drew his sword from his sheath.

So, she thought, he means to kill me rather than let me go?

She finally made use of her weapon, though she was greatly disadvantaged. Celegorm remained mounted and his brother sat nearby on his own horse. Celegorm may not desire to harm her, but he was a master swordsman as well as huntsman. He had fought in many battles. She was yet a mere student. She slashed at him, forcing him to back off for a moment. He reared his horse and she was forced to sidestep away. Their swords kissed and rang. Then Celegorm let out a battle cry and Curufin laughed. Lúthien strained her ears and heard Beren's hastened footsteps, and his call came falling upon her ears. The sounds of battle had drawn him in.

She began to cry, "No, Beren! Do not come any further!"

Huan let out a howl and came running to the banks of the stream, cursing to himself.

"Tinúviel!"

"It's a trap, Beren!" Lúthien cried. "It is a trap!"

It was then that Curufin swerved his horse between Lúthien and his brother, and he reached down and seized her and pulled her up into his saddle with amazing strength. He was a skilled and cunning horseman. She gave a piercing scream and tried to jump, but Curufin held on to her.

"Let her go!" Beren shouted.

"Well, Beren, it is a pleasure to see you too. So Sauron did not kill you. I am really quite surprised that he did not kill such a negligible mortal! How very unfortunate. He would have done us all a favor!"

"Abandon your assault and leave us alone! You have no right to take Tinúviel away from me!"

"You do not have any right to take her from her kin. Were you about to go with her to Angband?"

Beren did not answer. Celegorm sneered. He had caught a straw.

"Of course you were! What kind of fool are you! How could you put Lúthien in such a perilous situation? You and I both know that your quest is in vain. Did you ever think of her? Look at her now!"

He pointed to her where she sat. Her clothes were rugged and torn with travel, and she herself looked travel-worn. In her eyes was fear and distress. That was all too plain. Beren bowed his head.

"There! You see? Tell me Beren: Does Lúthien deserve that? You would condemn her to Hell? Such a thing is an unforgivable sin! She is the youth of the Eldar, a holy innocent, and I will not let you condemn her! At least I love Lúthien enough to protect her."

Those words stung Beren, and he never did forget those words. He had known all along that his quest was hopeless. It had been made for his death, and Lúthien should never have been apart of it. He again realized all that Lúthien had been through because of him. And what Celegorm said about condemning her that was all too true. Lúthien could be risking the fires of Hell for him.

He thought about dropping his sword and letting Celegorm take Lúthien out of his love for her. She would be among her own kin. Celegorm was her own kind, and he would not die like Beren. Lúthien deserved him more than Beren deserved Lúthien. In fact, he knew he never really would deserve her. He began to think that he should never have stayed in the woods of Doriath to see her again. He should have known that he would love Lúthien without hope. She was of the Eldar, and he would have to find himself a Woman that could love him. Perhaps he could wed Morwen as Rian had asked him to. Lúthien was happy before he had come. Now she had been a prisoner and a fugitive. She had run from her own kin and had challenged the forces of darkness for him. All because of him.

Then Celegorm whispered to his horse, Thalion, and the horse sprang forward, kicking its hoofs at Beren. Beren fell to the ground, and Thalion began to bring down his hoofs to crush him underfoot, but he rolled out of the way only just in time. Lúthien screamed for him. That scream rang in Beren's ears and brought him to his senses. He sprang to his feet and raised his sword again.

"I will not let you take her, Celegorm," he said grimly. "I love her more than you ever will, so I will not let you take her. She risked her life for me. I have yet to show her that I would risk my life for her too. This is your last chance. Leave us alone or die! That is your choice."

"Your threat means nothing to me, Beren son of Barahir. I am skilled with the sword. You may be a good huntsman, but now we shall see how good a fighter you are!" Celegorm said, hopping down from his horse.

"The last person that challenged me in such a way ended up in two halves. It was an Orc. It seems that you have a bit of Orc blood in you, so this fight should be no different!"

Celegorm swung his sword at Beren for that insult, but Beren blocked it with his own.

"Beren, stop it!" Lúthien called to him. "Just let them take me!"

"No, Tinúviel. You are the one that is not making sense now! Our dooms shall be alike!"

Lúthien smiled weakly at these words.

"I warn you Celegorm: You are fighting a losing battle. Not only will you lose Tinúviel, but you will lose your life as well," Beren said to Celegorm

"I could say the same for you too, Beren. Do watch out for those stones. They are quite slippery. You cannot afford one mistake. It will cost you your head."

"That is why I will not look for stones. I may be a mortal, but I am no fool. You think I would fall for that old trick?"

Huan was watching all of this happen a few feet away. He had heard Lúthien's scream and had seen that Curufin had caught her. He glanced from Lúthien to Celegorm, trying to work out in his head what he could do to stop all of this. He whimpered in anguish. He was so confused, and he was being torn between his love for his master and his love for Lúthien and Beren. He had promised to help them in their need, and Lúthien's words when she had sent him off to his master, about how he had become a dear friend to her, echoed in his head.

But he kept remembering the face of the little Elvin-boy he had known ages ago. He remembered how the boy's eyes had lit up when Oromë handed the pup to him. He remembered how Celegorm had saved his life many years ago when no one else could, and how he had trained him to be the hound he was today. Still, he wondered how that little boy could have turned into this elf that he knew now. He could not just sit there and try to think of whom he loved greater. He had to do something about this, but what could he do, and for whom?

Perhaps he should speak? No. Words would never help him in this situation. He could not woo Celegorm from killing Beren. The deed was too firmly fixed in his head, and he wanted to fulfill his father's oath. Not only did he want to kill Beren because of the Silmarils, but because he had won Lúthien's heart. Huan had to take action. But whom was he going to help? Lúthien's cries began to ring in his ears. His mind was about to snap. He chewed at his tail in his frustration. What could he do? What could he do?

Celegorm and Beren's swords clashed.

"Are you enjoying this, Beren?" Celegorm smirked. "You are sweating already!"

"Just over excitement."

"You will be sweating blood soon enough!"

Lúthien turned about in the saddle and Curufin clutched her.

"You shall watch your lover die."

"You know, Curufin," Lúthien answered. "I despise you. I never liked you."

Beren spun about and managed to wound Celegorm. The Elf let out a cry and Beren grinned.

"Do not be over-confident, mortal," Celegorm said.

"Do not worry. That is not one of my strengths."

Celegorm thrust his sword forward and Beren saved himself from being spitted with an involuntary block.

"You know," Celegorm said. "I do not understand why you are so determined to defend Lúthien when you shall only abandon her. But what should one expect from a mortal man? They are too concerned about themselves to share their life with another, even if their lives are short and insignificant."

"That is not true of my people," Beren answered.

"What of your people? Your people not only want to dominate the earth and steal away what it rightfully the Elves, but you would also take our women? Those that steal away the daughters of the Eldar do not gain kinship with her kin or become immortal!"

"You tried to steal Lúthien away from her father, did you not?"

Elves tire less easily than Men do, so Beren was knocked to the ground, but he kicked Celegorm's sword out of his hand. Then Beren rose up his sword, but Celegorm jumped back. He mounted his horse and picked up his spear. Death was near Beren, for he was too weary to rise, and the muscles in his arms were too sore to block any blow that Celegorm gave him, and Celegorm purposed to ride him down with his spear.

Curufin rode towards his brother, and Lúthien had also caused him a great deal of struggling. She now saw Celegorm raise his spear and ride towards Beren and she screamed in horror.

"Beren! Look out!"

"Be silent!" Curufin hissed and covered her mouth, muffling her cries.

That was when Huan's mind snapped and at long last, he took sides.

A great baying and snarling broke out. Huan the Wolf-Hound, born in Valinor and the greatest dog on Middle-Earth, leapt forward, charging himself at Celegorm s horse, at last forsaking his Master s service. That horse was so frightened by the sight of Huan that it stood up on its hind legs, and Celegorm s spell upon him was broken. Celegorm was thrown off, and the spear fell from his hands. Huan swept it up in his jaws before he could grab it and brought it to Beren. Beren took it and broke it in two across his knee.

Celegorm cursed his horse, and he cursed Huan too, but Huan only snickered and stood up prouder than ever. Beren rose from the ground.

"Yield yourself, Celegorm. Even Huan has left your side," he said. "You unmasked yourself for the villain you are!"

"The House of Fëanor are no cravens!" Celegorm said in an icy voice. "We stand for justice and valor!"

Then Celegorm drew a shirt-knife out and held it up for Beren to see.

"This is Angrist. It was made long ago by the Elvin-smiths of old. What sort of steel or iron it is made of is a mystery, but it was made into the sharpest blade in all of Middle-Earth. It is indestructible, and it cuts into iron as though it were green wood. It shall cleave through your skull easily enough."

Beren took a step back and picked up his sword.

Celegorm! Huan barked. Just remember: This is the turning point. You are no longer my Master. Never again will I serve you. I now claim Beren son of Barahir as my new Master.

Celegorm ignored the hound.

"Celegorm, please do not do this! Please!" Lúthien begged after biting Curufin's hand, looking miserable. "I will let you take me back to Nargothrond! I will be your wife! I will do anything you ask of me. But please, just spare Beren! That is all I ask of you: A little mercy."

Celegorm hesitated. Lúthien was hopeful.

"Celegorm?"

"Take Lúthien to Himring," Celegorm ordered his brother. "I will deal with Beren on my own!"

"NO!" Lúthien shrieked and began struggling again.

Huan took a step towards Curufin and his horse, but Curufin picked up his bow, and dipped the tip of his arrow into a bottle of poison. Then he fastened the arrow to the string. Huan froze. Lúthien stopped struggling and kept her eyes on Celegorm and the blade of Angrist.

"Take her!"

"Over my dead body," Beren said darkly.

Then he leapt towards Curufin. It was a great leap that has been renowned in history. He leapt many feet and knocked dismounted Curufin from his horse, but Curufin had been holding onto the reins of his steed. The beast reared and fell. Lúthien sprang from the saddle only just in time to spare herself of great injury, and she lay on the grass unharmed.

Beren took away Curufin's sword and his dagger and held his own inches from his throat. Celegorm took a step towards them.

"You give me one good reason, any reason at all, and I will kill him!" Beren warned.

Celegorm halted and stood where he was, motionless. He could not risk his own brother's life.

"Throw down your knife!" Beren ordered. "Throw down your knife, and I will let your brother live to see another day!"

"You are nothing but a liar and a bluff!"

"Liar? Bluff? Do you really want to test those claims?"

Beren pulled back Curufin's head by the hair and pressed the blade of the sword to his Adam s apple. He was about to kill him, but Lúthien suddenly grabbed the hilt of the sword.

"Stop this madness!" she cried.

"Why do you call it madness? Curufin deserves no less than death, and long will Mandos hold him in his keeping."

"I see madness in your eyes, Beren," she told him in soft words. "You are a hunter and a foe of Morgoth. Perhaps even the greatest and the bravest of them all, but you are not a murderer. I beg of you: Spare him his life. All of us, even Celegorm and Curufin, are on the same side. We all are against Morgoth. They were after me. Now, Beren, can you look at me and honestly say that you blame them?"

I do not care about this immortal coil!

Beren I love you," Lúthien's voice sank to a whisper. "Do not stain yourself with Curufin's blood. Let him go."

"All right," Beren said reluctantly. "I will let him go as soon as the high prince throws down his knife."

There was a moment of intense silence. Then at last, Celegorm threw down his knife.

"See, Beren?" Lúthien said to him quietly. "We have won. You must release Curufin now."

"First, take the knife, Tinúviel. It may come in use to us."

Lúthien cautiously picked the knife up from the ground. As she did, her eyes met Celegorm's. She shivered and handed Angrist to Beren and nodded. Beren put down his sword and threw Curufin from him.

"Now get out of here, Celegorm!" he ordered. "Go back to your noble kinsmen. Be gone, renegade fool, and let your lust cool in exile. No more work like Morgoth's slaves or cursed Orc, proud son of Fëanor! May you learn from them what justice and valor truly is!"

Curufin rose from the ground, wiping blood away from his lip with a scowl. Then he cursed Beren under earth and sky. "Farewell! And better were you to die for hunger in the waste than by the wrath of the Sons of Fëanor. You may reach over dale and hill, but with no gem, no maid, no Silmaril. None shall ever long lie in your grasp! I curse you from rising unto sleep! Go hence unto a swift and bitter death!"

Beren was not daunted. Instead he said, "Leave Tinúviel and I in peace!"

But Curufin stooped while no one was looking, and hid his bow and arrow in his cloak and then mounted his horse. Celegorm was about to climb onto his own horse, but Beren let out a low whistle, and the horse came to him as though greeting his beloved master. Beren stroked the horse and laughed.

"Your horse, Thalion," he said, "I keep for the service of my Tinúviel. I am sure he is quite happy to be free of such a master."

Hear, hear! Huan barked his support.

"Yet another petty humiliation," Curufin said. "Mortals enjoy watching their betters walk."

He held out his hand to his brother, and Celegorm climbed up behind him on his steed as Huan howled in amusement. Celegorm continued to ignore the Wolf-Hound, though his final treachery wounded him deeply. Then Curufin snapped the reins and the brothers made their way off. Lúthien and Beren embraced one another with relief. Lúthien began sobbing into his shoulder, and Beren held her close to him and comforted her. Then Beren saw the blood upon the grass and was disgusted with himself. He knew that if Lúthien had not stopped him, he would have slain Curufin. He gave Lúthien a loving kiss in gratitude.

Curufin suddenly halted his horse, still within sight of the lovers, and brought out his bow. Celegorm saw it immediately and whom he was aiming at. He was aiming at Lúthien.

"What are you doing?" Celegorm demanded, but Curufin did not answer. His pride had been hurt, and he was full of shame. He could not stand such humility and defeat. The vengeful fire that had been kindled by losing his son and watching Celegorm lose his faithful hound to the likes of a mortal had become an open flame. He took careful aim and bent his bow.

"Stop!" Celegorm commanded and seized the bow from him. "Damn you!"

But it was too late. His brother had already let loose two arrows. "Let death be her lover now!" he cried.

Lúthien had not seen the bow, but she heard the whistling as the arrows came. Huan leapt up in front of her and caught the first arrow between his teeth, but the second arrow whizzed past his ear. It was too late to catch it, and it was bent on the same target, and Lúthien had no time to dodge it. She closed her eyes, resigning to the coaxing of death, waiting for the arrow to rip through her heart and stop its unceasing labor, but then she heard Beren cry out, and he sprang in front of her.

"NO!" she screamed.

She grabbed hold of him to throw him with her to the ground to dodge the shaft, but she was too late. Beren felt the arrow tear into his flesh. He let out a cry from the pain, and Huan let out a howl. Then Beren fell, but Lúthien, falling to her knees, caught him before he could hit the ground. Despair and fear overtook her. She cried out and cradled Beren in her arms as he writhed with pain.

Huan sniffed at Beren to make sure he was still alive, and then he let out another howl and chased after Curufin and Celegorm in a rage that not even Draugluin the wolf-lord had caused him. He looked as terrifying as Draugluin himself. He tore after the brothers, baying and snarling. He did not return for a long while. The Wolf-Hound pursued the brothers even as far as the outskirts of the forest and beyond. Celegorm cursed the hound, and Curufin let his quiver run empty, but Huan dodged all of the arrows or caught them in his jaws, gnawing on them and spitting them out. Only the speed of their horse saved them.

Then Huan at last became weary of the hunt and realized that Beren could be dying in Lúthien's arms, and he sought out a special herb that could heal Beren and deliver him from death's door.

"Oh no!" Lúthien moaned. "Beren! What did you do? Can you hear me?"

The tears began to fall from her eyes. She looked out into the distance, fearing the brothers would return to finish the kill, but Celegorm and Curufin were gone and Huan had followed them. He may be in danger as well. She had no hope of following him on two legs, and Beren's blood flowed before her eyes. Even though Lúthien was learned in the arts of healing, she had had little practice. In Doriath illness and injury was rare and she knew little to nothing about mortals' fragile bodies.

"They tried to kill you!"

"Yes! They tried to kill me. Never have you done a more foolish thing, Beren! That arrow was mine to bear! It was mine!"

Beren tried to argue but let out a cry of pain. Lúthien studied his wound closely, and there was a grave look on her face. All of her knowledge returned to her in a flood. His life may depend upon her memory and judgment.

"There is good news and bad news," Lúthien said with a trembling voice. "The good news is: The arrow missed your heart. The bad news is: I have never before treated a mortal. They are less easy to heal."

"And if you would have been the target, and not me, Tinúviel, it would have pierced your heart and killed you instantly."

"That is no excuse!" Lúthien said angrily. "Why did you spring in front of me? I would have never had such a wound! The first arrow was aimed well enough, and Huan saved me once again. The other arrow was aimed poorly. My shoulder only would have been pierced, and I cannot pull that arrow out for your sake! I know for certain that you would bleed to death!"

"I put myself in your place for once."

"If only I had let you kill Curufin," she said bitterly. "If you had taken his life then, he would have never had the chance to fire his cursed arrows! Now you could die!"

"No, Tinúviel! I am glad you stopped me! Slaughtering Orcs is one thing, but I am afraid that killing a Man or Elf for vengeance is quite another tale. If you do not believe that, Tinúviel , why did you stop me?"

Lúthien paused at that question and said in answer, "I regret it now!"

She decided pulling the arrow through was safer than pulling it out. She rolled Beren to his side, warning him that there would be pain. She rolled up her sleeves and clasped her hands around the end of the arrow.

"No!" Beren managed to choke out.

"It is all right. Just trust me, and do not move a muscle."

Lúthien kissed his brow and then pulled the arrow out as slowly and as gently as she could. In a few agonizing moments, she pulled the arrow through and wrapped Beren's wound tightly with leaves. The blood soaked through. She had never seen so much blood. The sight made her queasy, and his pain was obvious.

"Well, at least I will not have to force you to go home," he muttered. "Once I am dead, you will return to Menegroth. At least your father shall be happy at the news."

"Do not say such things, Beren! Right now, just try to save yourself by not talking! I do not want to lose you until I have to!"

Just then, Huan returned. He dropped something at Lúthien's feet and wagged his tail anxiously. She held it up and realized that they were leaves, but they were not ordinary leaves.

"Athelas leaves!" Lúthien gasped with astonishment. "I had thought that such a plant did not exist in this part of the world! Huan, you may have very well just brought me a miracle!"

There had been many legends about athelas leaves. Men later called the plant King's foil. According to legend, Yavanna the Valier planted them ages ago when Morgoth sent a plague with a chill wind from the Iron Mountains that struck down the little children of Man. Its healing power was said to be great. Bathing any wound with the athelas leaves was said to cause the wound to heal rapidly, and it also fought the cause of illnesses as well as relieving any pain. If these legends were true and not only myth, Lúthien could save Beren!

"Huan, watch over Beren. I must hurry to the river and fetch water."

Huan nodded.

Lúthien ran off to the river while Huan watched over Beren. Lúthien returned a few moments later, running as fast as she could with some water. Hastily, she crushed the leaves and mixed it with the water. The sweet scent of the leaves calmed her down.

"I have to bathe your wound, Beren," she said soothingly to him. "The arrow is no longer a problem. The leaves will deaden the pain and hopefully the bleeding. I just hope that the legends about them are true."

Then Lúthien bathed the wound. Beren sighed in relief. He hardly felt any pain at all. The bleeding was quenched. The next morning, the wound had healed before their eyes, leaving no trace of a wound and leaving little pain for Beren to suffer. Lúthien smiled.

"Thank the Valar!" she sighed. "The legends are true! There is healing magic in these leaves! Can you stand?"

"Yes, but I prefer to sit."

He cupped her face into his hands.

"You are the bravest Woman or Elf-maid to ever walk the earth, nightingale."

"And you are the bravest Man or Elf of all time, Beren," she answered.

Huan stepped up to Beren, presenting his neck.

"He wants you to take off his collar, Beren," Lúthien whispered.

"His collar? Why?"

"It was the collar that Celegorm gave him. I do not think he wants to covet any gift that his old master gave him."

"Does that mean you have abandoned your master for good?"

Huan nodded.

"He shall journey with us- for a while," Lúthien explained. "I do not think Celegorm or Curufin will ever pursue us again."

Then Beren removed the collar from Huan's neck, and the hound dragged it away and at last cast it into the river where it sank and was lost forever. He stared after it until he could no longer see it sink. Then he returned to his new masters without a glance back.


	17. Chapter 17 Luthien's Wanderings

Chapter Seventeen

Lúthien's Wanderings and Findings

Beren awoke early the next day. The sun had not even broken upon the hills when he sat up. Lúthien was still asleep and lay beside him. Beren was glad she had not been disturbed by his movement. She needed her rest, and after all that she had gone through, it was the least that she deserved. He watched her lovingly for a long while and listened to her breathe, pondering a grave decision that he had tried to make before and was rudely interrupted by the brothers.

As much as he hated and mistrusted him, the words of Celegorm haunted him. He had wanted to send Lúthien away before, and she would not hear of it. He knew that she had meant what she had said before, that she would follow him to the ends of the earth and their dooms would be alike, with all her heart, and she had saved his life yet again. Despite all this, he could give her little protection against Morgoth, and his powers were far beyond that of Lúthien's, Half-Maia she may be.

He cursed his oath, and he cursed himself. He did not want to admit to himself, for pride, that he truly wished that Lúthien could come with him. Did anyone really want to face Morgoth alone? He would be very lonely without her and may never see her again if he left her now, but he had sworn an oath that was set upon his head. He could not break that oath or ignore it. He had to continue the Quest; the final peril, even if it meant death, but he could not bring Lúthien with him. No, he would not allow it. She was too precious to him.

Beren was saying farewell to both light and love. Lúthien was safe now. Why put her in danger once again? It was true that Lúthien was a daughter of the Eldar. It was true that she was a child of a Maia and had her own powers in spells and magic and dance and song, not to mention her great beauty as well. She may be tall and much stronger than she looked to be. She may be wise and she may be a fighter, but she was no match for Morgoth. Only Ilúvatar was a true match for Morgoth.

For a long while, Beren was torn between his oath and his love, and the sun was high in the sky before he had reached a decision. The night carried on, and Beren still had not made his choice. He began speaking aloud to himself.

"I will not hold her to me any longer! I shall not be Death made flesh and blood for her! I can no longer drag her down into the pit with me! Yet I love her, and I cannot live without her, and at least if we do suffer Angband, we shall suffer together. But Tinúviel was not made to suffer. I cannot and will not take her with me. No matter what I do, I bring ruin to everything and everyone, especially to those I love!"

Beren had finally decided. His mind was made up, and no matter how much Lúthien pleaded or how much she hated him for his choice no longer mattered. As long as she was alive and safe, if only for a brief while, nothing else mattered. At last, he kissed Lúthien as she slept upon the grass. She let out a groan, but otherwise, she did not stir.

"Farewell, little bird," he whispered in her ear. Then he rose and said to Huan, "I am committing you to care for Tinúviel. I know you will guard her well. You did it once before. Make sure she does not follow me. By the time she should awake, I will be gone."

Huan cocked his head and gave him a puzzled stare.

"What I mean is: I am ending the quest on my own. I am leaving Lúthien here. I want you to lead her back to Doriath. And I can trust you to take care of her now. I do not care what she shall have to say about this, I have decided that I will not take her with me. Celegorm was right. I must protect her from Angband."

Huan whimpered and bit at Beren's sleeve, What do you think you are doing? Not even a powerful Elvin-king can face Morgoth alone! No one upon Middle-Earth can! Did you go mad in the pits of Sauron? How can you leave Lúthien here? Celegorm only said those things to make you angry. They did not mean anything. Besides, I alone will never be able to stop Lúthien from following you! It would take a whole army sent from hell to do that!

Beren brushed him off and began singing the Song of Parting in praise of Lúthien and all the lights of heaven; for Beren was convinced that as soon as he came to Angband, he would have to suffer the pits of hell and would never see her again. He mounted Thalion and sang as he left.

"Farewell now, leaves of trees,

Your music in the morning-breeze!

Farewell now blade and bloom and grass

That see the changing seasons pass;

Waters murmuring over stone

And meres that silent stand alone!

Farewell now mountain, vale, and plain!

Farewell now wind and frost and rain,

And mist and cloud, and heaven's air;

Star and moon so blinding-fair

That still shall look down from the sky

On the wide earth, though Beren die-

No dreadful echo, lie and choke

In everlasting dark and smoke.

Farewell sweet earth and northern sky,

For ever blest, since here did lie

And here with lissome limbs did run

Beneath the Moon, beneath the Sun,

Lúthien Tinúviel

More fair than mortal tongue can tell.

Though all to ruin fell the world

And were dissolved and backwards hurled

Unmade into the old abyss,

Yet were its making good, for this-

The dusk, the dawn, the earth, the sea-

That Lúthien for a time should be."

Lúthien awoke hours later and found Huan at her side. Beren was nowhere in sight, and Thalion was missing. She was not alarmed at once, more annoyed since Beren still bore a wound. She did not think mortals recovered so quickly. She recovered from small cuts within seconds, bruises within hours, more serious wounds may take a few days. She could not imagine that Beren healed at that rate which was quicker than even most Eldar due to her Maiar blood. Then again, he was no ordinary man and was no stranger to pain having lived in the wilderness and surviving countless skirmishes. No doubt the athelas leaves affected him too. She assumed he had gone hunting and left Huan to guard her since the hound did not seem very distressed.

They would have little opportunity to hunt once they came to the barren lands of Angband and those surrounding it. Lúthien had spoken of her concern of food the night before, wondering if what the men of Brethil had given them would last the journey there and back. The bread was already growing stale, the cheese would not age well for long, and meat was sorely needed in good quantities and as early as possible so that they could dry the meat for travel. Beren had been strangely silent, lost in his own thoughts. She had not asked him to hunt, but perhaps he had been weighing her words carefully and taken it upon himself to do so.

She began to prepare the camp for his return should he return with game. Midday began to pass. There was not much time of daylight left now, and her annoyance became fear. What if he had only been temporarily relieved by the athelas leaves and he had been more grievously hurt than hey had thought?

"Huan, help me find Beren," she said.

He whimpered. He knew Beren was leagues away by now, but he could not speak aloud his knowledge. He had to wait for Lúthien to put the right question to him. Only then could he respond clearly. No matter. He knew she would realize the truth soon enough.

She followed the track of hooves for a while. It did not take long for her fear to become doubt and then anger. She thought it suspicious that Beren would take the horse and leave Huan. She had no need of a guard, not here. Brethil was outside the Girdle of Melian, but close enough to Doriath so that only the boldest enemies would come near it. The sun was shining so that Orcs would not be active even if they were nearby, and the scent of Huan alone would drive away any wolves for miles. Besides, she could confidently say now that she no longer feared Orcs or Wargs or outlaw men. She had little knowledge of weapons, but she was becoming comfortable with her magic and enchantments.

Beren's task would have been made much easier if he had taken the hound with him. He might need the horse only if his prey happened to catch sight of him and flee. Hunting had much more to do with stealth, patience, and good aim than speed. Horses were not creatures of discretion, whinnying and swatting at flies with their tails. Thalion was more war horse than hunting horse. They could not run through densely packed trees or flush animals from holes. Huan was as swift as any horse. They did not have claws and teeth.

He had not gone to hunt. Beren had left her here and no doubt commanded Huan to see that she did not follow him.

"Well, I will tell you this!" she declared. "You can run, but you cannot hide while there are sun and moon in the skies! Our dooms shall be alike!"

Huan sat down next to Lúthien. She gave him a sidelong glance and smiled.

"Do you remember when you helped me out of Nargothrond, when we realized I did not have a horse to escape for very long, you told me to climb onto your back and use you in the place of a horse?"

He nodded.

"Well, I was wondering if you would be willing to do so again."

Huan wagged his tail and nodded again. He knew Lúthien would stop at nothing to catch Beren. She smiled and patted him on the head.

"Thank you, Huan."

He made a noise in his throat that was laughter. Then Huan thought long of how he could aid Lúthien and Beren so that their peril in Angband would be less. In a few days journey, he brought Lúthien back to the isle of Sauron. He took up the wolf-hame of Draugluin that had been left and disguised himself as the wolf-lord himself, and Lúthien was convinced.

"And now for me," she muttered. "What disguise can I take up?"

Lúthien pondered this long, and then, suddenly, she snapped her fingers and appeared as the messenger of Thuringwethil. Lúthien now appeared as a vampiress with great, mighty bat-wings with fingers, and a single barbed, iron claw. Lúthien was changed from beautiful in appearance, to the look of an old, ugly hag, and she was not content in such a form.

"Aye Elbereth," she moaned when she saw herself in the water. "May the days be short!"

Huan rolled around on the grass in Draugluin costume, howling with silent laughter.

"Be careful, mutt," Lúthien teased, waving her iron claw at him. "You do not look so swell either. Well, we shall both have a good laugh when we find Beren, and our journey from here to Angband will be enjoyable. All creatures shall fly from us in terror!"

Though the disguise was convincing, Lúthien privately knew that the disguises would only give them a chance of entering Angband. If the Enemy had already gotten wind of Sauron's defeat and the passing of his servants, they would be rendered useless. Beren and Finrod had already tried to pass by Sauron using the same tactic. They had failed because Sauron knew his servants, even down to the meanest Orc. Lúthien and Beren would only be trading their skins for those of higher ranking officials of the Enemy. They would not have to answer to most of the servants of the Enemy, but they would be brought before the only one they were answerable to. Morgoth would expect to hear from them, even if it was not known that anything was amiss in Sauron's Isle. He would certainly know the sorceress and Draugluin.

She tore away the disguise and studied her own reflection. Huan saw that she was deep in thought and let her alone for a while, but not too far that he could not come running in case there was trouble. She touched her face as she studied it. This is the face that has caused so much joy and so much grief. I bring trouble to those that become captivated by it. Beren is willing to throw his life away for it, and Celegorm would kill for it. She had never gone out of her way to seduce anyone. Her looks alone betrayed her. She had often wondered why she was cursed with such beauty. Perhaps there was a purpose for it after all. If disguises failed, Lúthien would be revealed one way or another. Sauron had said that Morgoth was seeking her, and even if Beren would not speak of it, she had known of the plot to snatch her for a long while. He sought her as a valuable hostage, yes, but he was also curious about her beauty. That meant that even Morgoth could be swayed a little in his deeds by the mere notion of great beauty. And though she had never been practiced in the art of seduction, she decided that it may have been the reason she was born. Her name was the word for enchantress. If she could ensnare the hearts of three great men and stir them to action, what might she accomplish if she tried? The thought of attempting to seduce Morgoth frightened and disgusted her, a wry smile crossed her lips.

It may be a way to purchase Beren's life should all else fail. Who knows? It might even win me a Silmaril, even the Iron Crown and the Iron Throne itself.

"Come on!" Beren said under his breath. He had been trying to get a fire going, but the wood was too damp. It had been raining and storming all night. The trees were poor shelter. He tried to start a fire once more, but his attempt failed. He gave up and threw the stones away. Beren must have forgotten his strength when he was angry. The stones slammed against a tree trunk and broke into pebbles. He sat back and wrapped his blankets around him.

"No fire," he muttered to himself. "Yet in these lands, I know fire can bring foes as often as banish them." Then Beren shivered in the cold for a moment and said grumpily, "But then again, when it is a choice between the risk of fire and death...This is going to be a long night! Nothing to rely on but my own body-heat to keep me alive through the night!" He shivered again and threw the blankets over his head.

He began thinking of Lúthien and wished that she were with him now. He knew it was probably a little selfish, but he did not care. He wondered if Lúthien could have started a fire even with damp wood. She was revealing new powers day by day little by little it seemed. Darkness had fallen now, and he was alone. He tried to sleep, for he had been traveling for days now, and he was as weary as his horse. He now lay in the Plain of Ardgalen that led after many leagues to the Gate of Angband itself. He did not know that Lúthien was closer to him than he thought.

Lúthien was hiding with Huan and had to put a great restrain on herself to keep herself from laughing.

"Since he decided he could abandon me," she whispered to Huan. "We may as well have some fun!"

Lúthien stepped towards the fire in vampire's form. She chuckled and waved her hand over the damp wood. It blazed into flames that licked towards the sky. Lúthien departed to the shadows again, and Huan let out a bone-chilling howl.

Beren tore off the blankets from his head and sprang to his feet, fumbling for his sword. He stared at the fire in amazement, for the flames were not red and orange, but blue! Then Lúthien waved her hand again, and the flame flickered so that for a brief moment, there was darkness, and Lúthien sat by the fire as the flames roared again.

Beren saw her and fell into dread, for in her disguise of magic, he did not recognize her. Lúthien cared not to hide her fangs as she spoke to him, and even her voice was changed by her magic.

"Come, boy," she said to him. "Warm yourself by the fire. I saw that you could not light it and that you are all alone. One can only take pity upon you. So come now, and keep an old woman company."

"Who are you?"

Lúthien again tried not to snicker. Poor Beren, she thought. He looks at me now and thinks me a monster. If he knew that it was his precious Tinúviel, he would tackle me and smother me with kisses.

Beren sprang to his feet and drew his sword. Lúthien let out a hiss and with a swipe of her iron claw, she knocked the sword out of his hand. He moved to retrieve it, then Huan sprang from the shadows over the roaring fire, and Beren spun around in a circle, trying to find him. He became dazed and confused by the firelight, and Lúthien kept dancing in and out of the shadows. Beren began to think he was having a horrible nightmare or was going mad.

Again Huan sprang over the fire, and Lúthien took flight. She flew over the top of Beren's head and landed behind him, startling him.

"Who are you!" Beren cried, his voice becoming shrill.

"You know who we are," Lúthien answered. "You also know what we came for."

"I do not know you! What do you want?"

Lúthien began laughing, and Huan let out a howl.

"Do you recognize this?"

Lúthien threw the ring of Barahir at Beren's feet. He let out a sob when he recognized it.

"Who are you! What have you done to Lúthien?"

"She is here, but not the way you think!"

"Where is she! Please! Merciful Manwë! What did you do to her?"

"She is here," Lúthien said in a cruel voice. "With us."

Then Lúthien swept her wings about her and disappeared in the shadows again. Then she sang with her own voice so that Beren would recognize it.

"Again she fled, but swift he came.

Tinúviel! Tinúviel!

He called her by her elvish name:

And there she halted listening.

One moment stood she, and a spell

His voice laid on her: Beren came,

And doom fell on Tinúviel

That in his arms lay glistening."

Then Beren wondered. He recognized Lúthien's voice, but he thought now that this vampiress was trying to ensnare him.

"Where is Lúthien!" he demanded, and his eyes flashed. "I shall tear your wings off, you she-demon!"

"A, Beren, Beren! Almost too late have I thee found!

O proud and fearless hand and heart,

Not yet farewell, not yet we part

Not thus do those of Elvin race

Forsake the love that they embrace

A love is mine, as great a power

As thine to shake the gate and tower

Of death with challenge weak and frail

That yet endured and will not fail

Nor yield unvanquished were it hurled

Beneath the foundations of the world

Beloved fool! Ye that would seek

To escape from such pursuit; in might so weak

To trust not, thinking it well to save

Thy love from love, and welcome the grave!"

Lúthien suddenly blew at the fire, and sparks flew up into the air and got into Beren's eyes, but she had only intended to put out the fire. So darkness fell upon them, and Beren stood still with his sword gleaming in the pale moonlight.

"What do you want? Where is my Tinúviel? I will give you anything to have her back! What have you done with her?"

"Tinúviel? Aw. What a sweet nickname. You abandoned her, did you not?"

Beren started, then bowed his head and fought with the stab of anguish he felt at these words.

"We found the poor lass in the wilderness calling your name. I thought we should bring her here to see you before she died."

Lúthien for a moment allowed her face to be seen; her own face, and Beren fell to his knees, calling her name.

"Tinúviel! Tinúviel!"

Huan stepped forward in his Draugluin costume and sniffed at Beren as he shrank to the ground and wept. When Beren raised his fist, Huan let out a warning growl and snapped his jaws in Beren's face. Then he turned to leave.

"No! Wait! Please!" Beren cried and suddenly grabbed Huan's tail. "Do not go!"

"We have no use of this boy," Lúthien said to Huan. "I do not enjoy taking someone's life when they do not enjoy life."

"Please!" Beren pleaded. "Take me! Take me in Tinúviel's place. Please do not harm her!"

"You left her! You left her all alone to die!"

"And may I burn for it!" Beren shouted at the top of his lungs. "I loved Tinúviel. She saved me from Death, and she saved me from Hell! And I loved her with all my heart and soul! Tinúviel would not leave me, yet I was so quick to leave her... Please! Please bring her back!"

Lúthien paused for a moment and smiled as tears came from her eyes, enjoying his words of love, but Beren was a man and was prideful. Now she felt that it was unfair of her to test him like this. She stooped and laid her hand on Beren's head.

"Well," she said as last, "since you asked so nicely..."

Then Lúthien crept up behind him and wrapped her wings around him from behind. He let out a cry.

"What do you want?"

Lúthien let out a command, and her vampire disguise was gone, and her wings had changed back into the folds of her cloak.

"You!" she answered.

"Tinúviel!" Beren cried, and she was sent into gales of laughter.

"Revenge is sweet!" she chuckled. "You like the disguises?"

Lúthien bowed, and Huan tore off his wolf-skin.

"What are you doing here?" Beren shouted, casting down his sword and gripping her roughly.

"You thought you could get away from me, huh?"

"What are you doing here?" he repeated, and he cast her to the ground and took her by the throat.

"I followed after you," Lúthien answered, for she was not afraid, even though she had never seen Beren so angry before.

"I told you not to follow me!"

"Then you are not in the least bit happy to see me?"

"Well..."

Lúthien put her arms around his neck and her touch cooled his anger. He took her arms and raised her to her feet.

"Did I hurt you?"

"You? Hurt me? I know that you could never harm me, Beren."

Beren kissed her and held her close to him for a long while and could not help feeling glad that she had managed to follow him. He was amazed that she had and wondered how she had done it.

"How did you get here?" he asked her. "I put many miles behind me, and I made sure I was hidden."

"Huan gave me his assistance once again."

Beren cast Huan a dark glance.

"I thought I told you to make sure she did not follow me!"

Huan gave him an innocent look.

"It was not his fault. You know I would have found you sooner or later, Beren."

Huan stepped forward and gave his wolf-helm to Beren.

"We have a plan," Lúthien said. "We are to enter Angband under disguise. I shall go as the vampiress, and you the wolf."

"There is one flaw to your plan," Beren said. "There are only two disguises. That means one of us three must remain here."

There was a silence.

"Thrice now I curse my oath," Beren sighed. "But this means that Tinúviel certainly cannot come. I shall take the guise of the vampire, Huan shall take the wolf-helm.

"No!" Lúthien cried. "You would never be a convincing vampiress!"

"Follow me no more. I must prove to your father that I am not a fool or a coward."

"Beren, my father wants you dead! He would have killed you if he knew you would get this far. I heard it from his own mouth. He hates you!"

"And that is no surprise."

"No matter what you do, you will never truly satisfy my father. He will still hate you for what you are. Surely you must know that by now?"

"Yes, I do. But I swore an oath."

"Did the oath say that you alone had to go to Angband? I recall it not! And I know why you made that oath at Finrod's grave."

Beren paused.

"Oh yes, Beren. I know. You made that oath so that you had something to hold on to. You made that oath so that it might force you to go on. You never believed in the Quest. You did not assume you would perish in the deed, you just knew it and accepted it. You know what one could call you?"

"There is a very extensive list. Let me see now. Coward? Fool? There are some more colorful words I could name if-"

"You are a fatalist."

"I never had hope. I admit that. You may call me hopeless, but I am just hopelessly in love."

Lúthien fumbled for words. Beren cast himself upon the ground and dragged a hand over his face.

Lúthien lay beside him, staring at the sky. It was the color of ash, for it was known that the towers of Thangorodrim ever belched out smoke that poisoned the air even here in the plains. She looked towards the North with her eyes and saw the Iron Mountains of Ered Engrin. Beyond those mountains, she knew, was Angband, where they must soon be to challenge the Evil One in his strongholds. She thought of the Quest that she soon must face, for even if Beren denied her, she would go. She remembered all the things her mother had told her of Angband. That it was the Doorway to Hell itself and that Morgoth, Melkor, was there in his full power and majesty.

For a moment, Lúthien despaired and thought of what Beren had said and knew that he was right not to have hoped that they would ever succeed in such a Quest. How could they possibly steal a Silmaril from the Iron Crown? First, they had to somehow pass the gatekeeper and find their way through perilous mazes and snares. Then they would have to achieve the impossible and cut out a Silmaril from iron that lay upon Morgoth's head, the one who slept not by night or day and was the greatest danger upon both heaven and earth? And finally, when all is done, they must escape from the fires of Angband and bring the Silmaril to face another peril? Her own father!

Lúthien closed her eyes and clenched her teeth, and when she opened them, she looked about her. She saw Beren at her side, who was alive and breathing after his ordeal in Sauron's pits. She looked about the Plain and realized that Ardgalen was still a place flowing with life though the sky was scorched and the air bitterly cold. Though sunlight may never peer through the ashy sky and the foul reek of Angband was swelling and poisoning many of the waters, there were tall grasses and ferns and flowers growing as though the sun ever smiled upon the Plain. This place, despite how close it was to the Gates of Hell, was still green. Lúthien considered this, and this gave her hope.

She rolled to her side so that she faced Beren and said, "Was it true, what you said?"

"That I was hopelessly in love?"

She smiled. "That I saved you from Hell. Is that true?"

Now Beren sat up and took her in his arms. "You think that I was playing you false when I said that? I was a walking corpse. Morgoth had destroyed all of my people. My family. After I had taken out all of my rage in battle and could not find death in all my wandering, I had nothing left. Do you realize that? I would have flung myself from the top of Gorgoroth, if it were not for that one sight of Doriath. Then I heard that pipe and was led to you, and I had never been a believer until I met you, Tinúviel, and saw the light of heaven upon your face. And while I was in the pits of Sauron, your face was the only thing that went through my mind so that I survived."

"This time, you shall be able to touch that face while we endure Angband."

"Tinúviel, Morgoth does not love the Eldar, especially one of their princesses."

"And he hates Men all the more," Lúthien said gravely. "He hates my people because we are protected by the Valar and will never give in to him again. Most Elves hated him from the very beginning; so they run from him, and at the last, even fight against him, although it only brings grief and death to many. He is also jealous because the Valar blessed us with eternal life, but it is Men that fight him. Some Men are easy to control, but others would rather stand and fight than become his servants or to flee like Elves. We do not like wars, but your people are brave and prideful, so you fight like cornered animals. Indeed I marvel that Men would die so easily for our cause when they have so little life to begin with. Therefore, Men are even worse enemies in his eyes than the Elves. You are in more danger than I ever could be in."

"I very much doubt that. Since we are so close to your home, I think that we must part here. Our brief song must end, and our paths must be sundered into their separate ways."

"Why part here?"

"You would be safe in the borderlands of Melian. You will walk at ease and find your home and the well-loved trees."

"My heart is glad when I see the fair trees of Doriath, yet I cannot return there. I left it with anger in my heart and forsook my home, my kin. I would not look on grass nor leaf there evermore without you by my side. Why there alone would you forsake me to sit hopeless at last and gaze at waters pitiless in heartache and loneliness?"

"I cannot enter Doriath, for I swore an oath to your father to never come back save to fulfill the Quest of the Silmaril and win my desire. Not rock nor steel nor Morgoth's fire nor all the power of Elfinesse shall keep the gem that I would possess. This I swore once of Tinúviel, more fair than any child of Man. My word I must abide, though such a parting grieves me."

"Then I will not go home, but I shall roam in these woods, weeping. I will not heed any peril or know laugher, and if I may not go with you, I will pursue you until we meet again."

"I will not allow you to wander, and I shall not go to Doriath unless it were to guard you. Morgoth is seeking for you, Tinúviel. He has been searching for you for years. You do not know the things that Sauron spoke of to me. Morgoth's power is now awake; already the hills and dales are filled with his spies. The hunt is up! Their prey is wild, a lost maiden, an Elvin child. My hope grows weak and my heart is chilled at the thought. I curse my oath and curse the fate that joined us both and snared your feet in my unhappy doom of flight and wandering. Now let us to Doriath."

"Never! Do not say that you curse the day that we met again!"

"I have brought misery upon you."

"We both are at fault. If you had not seen me, you would have never gone upon this Quest. Morgoth knows who you are too. You are Beren son of Barahir. Your father's deeds alone are enough to be the death of you. You are even greater than your father, Beren. He has hunted for you for years also, his bravest foe, a child of Man and no common Man."

"But you are the youth of the Eldar, Tinúviel. Morgoth knows that your race love you above all others. He knows they would give anything to save you. If he captures you, he shall have defeated the Elves."

"That shall not be. I shall not allow him to capture me so easily."

Lúthien brandished the sickle dagger at her side.

"You mean you would-"

"I would rather take my own life than become a hostage to be bargained for."

"Tinúviel-"

"It is as I said before: Wherever you go, I shall follow and our dooms shall be alike."

Beren opened his mouth to protest, but he heard laughter. Lúthien and Beren glanced at Huan. He was laughing!

"Beren, Beren, Beren," he said.

Beren was dumb-founded.

"Is he-"

"Yes," Lúthien told him, smiling. "He can talk. He spoke to me as we escaped from Nargothrond. You would be wise to hear what he has to say."

Beren stared at Huan with wonder as he spoke again.

"Can you not see that you can never escape from Lúthien? She loves you more than you could imagine. She chose long ago to follow you to her doom, for she knows this and accepts it. She accepted it when she first came to you in the woods of Doriath. You cannot protect her from her own fate, because her fate has been woven with yours. So give up your attempts to dissuade her! They are made in vain. You are overjoyed that she is here. You can admit to that, and she shall never leave you for any reason. She has just proved it twice now. She proved first when she left Doriath and again now. She could have stayed, perhaps she might have even became Celegorm's wife and lived as a mighty queen of the Noldor, the Sindar, and the Teleri and lived without fear or care for Morgoth, but she did not. She came after you. And if you do go to Morgoth alone, you will die. The Quest indeed seems hopeless, but with Lúthien by your side, I believe you have every chance to succeed.

"I would go with you too, but I saw the flaw when I collected the disguises. I do not plan to follow you. This seems to be your mission, and Lúthien's as well. I know that what you find at the gate of Angband, I myself shall see even after you attempt your quest, and I know that we shall meet again in Doriath where all of this began, and that there in Doriath this all shall end. Now perhaps I have given you hope through my speech and you shall consider what I have said, Beren. What comes out of my mouth is all truth, and I would not waste my time to speak lies. Beren, you have only one chance to redeem this Quest and your oath. It was not chance that reunited you two. You are faced with a grievous choice. If you go to Angband, I advise you not to go alone. Many may call this Quest madness, but to go alone is truly madness! But now I can say no more."

Then Huan shut his mouth and was silent. Lúthien smiled warmly at him and then turned to Beren and folded her arms, watching him intently. She wanted to know what his answer would be to all of this. But Beren had cast his eyes to the ground and did not speak..

"All that Huan has said is true, Beren," Lúthien said when he did not speak. "I love you."

"Tinúviel," he announced after taking a deep breath. "I have made my final decision. I cannot run from you any longer. You are to come with me to Angband and to face Morgoth. We shall end the Quest together. No matter what tide may turn, no matter what cheats our hopes, no matter if we risk our lives and risk the fate of the earth. No matter if we risk losing each other, we must attempt to fulfill my vow. Together we shall win a Silmaril, and together we shall return or perish. We shall share the same fate despite all costs."

"So you finally agree with me?" Lúthien said, and she was smiling. "So you will not run from me anymore?"

"No. Our dooms shall be alike."

Lúthien awoke in the middle of the night. She stared up at the stars for a while, and then she watched over Beren. She saw that Huan was awake and was watching over her. She laughed.

"Do you ever sleep?"

Huan shook his head.

"Bring me a piece of parchment, please."

Huan brought her what she asked, and she began scribbling onto it. Then she stamped it with the royal seal and placed it in Huan's mouth.

"Huan, you must go to Doriath and give this message to my mother and father. I have written a full account of what has happened since I left them, including the truth about Celegorm and Curufin, and that Beren is alive. They must receive this letter. It is very important, and you are the only one here that can deliver it. You were not going to come with us, were you?"

Huan shook his head in reply.

"We would not have let you come anyhow. Will you deliver this message for me?"

Huan nodded and turned to run off into the night, but Lúthien stopped him.

"Please. There is one more thing. Make sure that Daeron knows that I forgive him, and that I have all the protection I need here. I know more than ever why he did what he did. So please, tell him that."

Huan nodded again.

"Thank you, Huan. I truly hope that Beren and I see you again. We are going to start towards Angband once winter has come. We plan to rest for a while. We have both been through too many ordeals to jump into another so soon."

"You should not say such things," Huan thought.

Then he ran off into the darkness. Lúthien returned to Beren's side and wrapped the blankets around him. She would not be able to sleep at all. Her thoughts were of Daeron and her home that now was many miles away. Never before had she realized the beauty of the glittering caves. She had never known until now what it was like to be far from home flying from peril into peril. She never knew how difficult a journey like this could be, even though Beren and Lúthien had miraculously survived all of these trials.

That gave her some comfort. She knew she would probably never see Doriath, let alone the light of day ever again.

Lúthien took up her vampire's form again and then gave Beren the wolf-helm to be his disguise. With magic, she caused Beren to look in all ways like a Warg, but she could do nothing about his eyes. There was always a gleam of a clean spirit in them. The two put on their disguises and had a good laugh terrifying the creatures in the wilderness. Then the night came and they managed to start up a roaring fire. They were safe for now and were very much encouraged that they had a plan. Lúthien had never had a plan to rescue Beren, yet she had managed to get him out safely. At least they knew they had a clue as to what they were going to do.

Now they sat by the fire, waiting for the stars to come out. Lúthien shivered, for the weather here was bitter cold. Beren wrapped a blanket about her.

"Thank you," she said. "I am not used to this chill. In Doriath, it is much warmer. My Mother s Girdle causes that. I remember that during the first battle, Doriath had a much colder climate. It was under the influence of Morgoth, and he was in control of the weather."

It was then that they realized that they could delay the Quest no longer. They planned to set out again the next day.

"I wish that we could stay here forever," Lúthien said with melancholy. "There is no need to worry about the Quest, or my Father. We could live in exile. It is not all that bad."

"As long as I am with you, it's paradise!" Beren reached for her. "But I have lived in exile for too long, Tinúviel. I do not want to die an outlaw, and you are not an outlaw."

"Then you do not fear the Nameless Evil?"

"Fearful does not even begin to comfort."

Beren turned towards the trees and ran into a spider web. He began to scream and thrash wildly, trying to brush the webbing and the spider off. Lúthien raised an eyebrow and began laughing.

"Get it off of me! Get it off of me!" Beren cried.

Lúthien climbed to her feet, though her sides were sore from laughter, and she tried to pull away the sticky webbing.

"Hold still! There!"

"The spider is still there! I can feel it!"

Lúthien held the spider in her hand. Beren recoiled.

"Aye Elbereth!"

"You are afraid of spiders?" Lúthien asked and began laughing again.

"I see spiders in my nightmares all too often," Beren answered, a little humiliated.

"Since the Spiders of Ungoliant made me their prey, I have developed a slight case of arachnophobia. I hope that the Enemy does not use that against me."

"Well, I am glad to see that you have fears about something. I have many fears, almost too many, I should think."

"You?" Beren sounded doubtful. "You, who had escaped from Doriath, you, who has faced the Wargs of the Isle, you who has cast down Sauron himself from his lordship, you have fears?"

"Yes. I have a great fear of Orcs and their pits of Baradur. You have heard the tales of the unfortunates that are cast into that dreadful place?"

"Yes."

"And there is one fear above them all."

"What is that?"

"That you and I might be separated during all the turmoil. We might never find each other again."

"And that is my greatest fear also."

"Beren, I was thinking," Lúthien said suddenly. "What will happen if we do succeed?"

"What do you mean? We would have finally completed the Quest and returned to your father to be married. That is all I think about if we should succeed if I dare to hope for such."

"No. You do not understand. I am worried for Doriath. I am worried about my Father and all of my people and all of the Elves and Elf-maids and the few children that have been born over the centuries. What do you think Morgoth's reaction will be when he loses one of the Silmarils he stole ages ago? They give him much power and glory. The Elves fear him all the more because he is in possession of those holy jewels. He would certainly like it back."

"Are you saying that you are worried that he shall strike at Doriath?"

"Yes."

"Your mother has her Girdle to protect her kingdom and the other Elf-Kingdoms would not stand idly by should Doriath come under attack. They know that once Doriath falls, Nargothrond will soon follow."

"Yes, but what if her magic alone is not strong enough to keep out the power of Morgoth? My Mother is a Maia, but Morgoth was once a Vala, one of the highest of my Mother's kin. If he were to combine all his power... Beren, as soon as you had left the halls of my Father, my Mother began speaking to him. She always knew that you were no ordinary Man. She told him that he had either doomed me or himself. What if he doomed us both and all of Doriath shares in that doom? And what of the Sons of Fëanor? I would fear their retaliation before Morgoth's. The Sons would stop at nothing, I feel, to reclaim what they feel is rightfully theirs. Having suffered at their hands, I fear what they would do to those they call enemies. Celegorm claimed to love me, and his brother tried to murder me. I shudder to think."

Lúthien sat back and sank into her deep thoughts.

"Tinúviel," Beren said, changing the subject to lighten their moods. "Once we are married, shall we have children?"

"Children?" Lúthien lifted her head and smiled. "Well, why not? I have always wished to be a mother."

"Shall we have a son or a daughter first?"

"Whatever we have, we have. But did you know, Beren, that if we have a child, that child shall have the blood of three different kindreds in their veins? They shall have the blood of Man from their father, the blood of Elves from their mother, and the blood of the Maiar from their grandmother as well as from myself. You know that I am not full Elf, but Half-Maia. Never has there even been a half-elf born to Middle-Earth."

Beren laughed.

"If that is so," he said, "then that child shall be the fairest of all in the world, and they shall be the luckiest. They shall have Lúthien Tinúviel as their mother."

"And they shall have Beren son of Barahir as their father."

Lúthien closed her eyes and saw a child in her mind's eye and as she finally nodded off she whispered a name, "Dior Aranel."


	18. Chapter 18 The Gates of Hell

Eighteen

The Gates Of Hell

Beren threw himself onto the ground. Lúthien stood over him so that her infamous bat wings fell on him and hid him, for there were dragons and birds flying in the air, spies and servants of the Enemy. If they had seen Beren, they would have certainly burned him alive. Lúthien gave him his wolf-skin, and he slipped it on. They both stayed where they were, horrified at the thought of coming to those gates. Huan had warned them that something evil and dreadful would be there, and that it would not be the last time they would have to face it. At last Beren stood up in Warg raiment.

"We have managed to make it this far," he said in a harsh voice because of Lúthien's magic. "We must finish what we started. We must at last prove to the world that our love is stronger than all the power of Morgoth and the might of all the kindreds of Middle-Earth. We go to face our destiny now."

"Do you realize that we may not come back out alive?" she asked, but her voice had also been changed and came out in hissing whispers.

"Does it really matter?"

Lúthien shook her head no. "As long as I die with you, it does not matter. I am worried that you shall die, and I shall be alone."

"And I fear the same, but this is our only option."

"All right. Now I must teach you to be a wolf! Walk a few paces for me, Beren!"

He did as she asked, and she instructed him to walk like a wolf and snuff like a wolf among other things.

"Now, you are my servant, so you follow behind. And remember that you are a Warg. You must stay in character, or the magic and the wolf-skin will gain you nothing. We must concentrate on getting past the thing that guards the gates."

They began walking towards the great volcano where a stone archway had been built. There, the great iron gates were. Beyond the gates and behind the very mountain itself was the land of Angband and the home of Morgoth.

Angband was built near the northwestern shores of the Great Sea in the range of the Iron Mountains as a first defense against any attack from the Valar. Angband was primarily an underground fortress, at least after its initial destruction by the Valar in the Years of the Trees. Like its prototype, Utumno, it had many hidden underground chambers and vaults far beneath the earth. Its main features above ground were the three peaks of the Thangorodrim, mighty towers of ash and slag raised above Angband's gates. The peaks of Thangorodrim were hollow, and from them channels and chimneys ran down to the deepest pits of Angband so Morgoth could produce poisonous clouds and vapors, as indeed he sent against the Noldor in Mithrim during the first days after their Return. There was a countless number of flying beasts in the sky, all the evil things any child might imagine. Bats and dragons, breathing fire through the air, screeched and circled the skies, their eyes sharp as the Eagles of Thorondor.

Lúthien and Beren could hear Orcs on the other side of the gates, shouting, blowing horns, cracking whips, and the cries of slaves. They heard the sound of industry and the roars of monsters. For a moment, they both stopped. A wave of emotions swept over them. Fear and despair were among other things, but then Lúthien stooped to the ground and picked something up from the soil. She held it to her breast for a moment and seemed to be frozen in time.

"Tinúviel?" Beren whispered. "What is it?"

"It is a miracle beyond all miracles!" she answered.

She handed the thing to him, and he gasped in astonishment. In his hand was a flower! Could it be that even here, before the very gate of Hell, there grew living things? He laughed! He laughed long and hard so that his sides felt as though they would split and tears came to his eyes.

"So there is hope after all!" he said. "And even here, life continues. But the flower is shorn too soon. Too soon."

As he said this, he crushed the delicate flower in his hand, and the petals fell into the dust. But Lúthien and Beren had been too reckless. For they were spotted by the very thing that kept watch over the gates, and he had been given many names in the centuries that he had caused torment and death. But the name he favored above all was Carchoroth.

Carchoroth was a Warg: The largest and most terrible that Lúthien and Beren had ever seen. Not even Sauron had looked so terrible in his wolf-form! There was a fire of such hate and wrath in his eyes that they glowed like hot coals. They could see the very demon itself within them. He was robust and hairy, with fur blacker than the dark around them. He stood with a grimace on his face, and his eyes glowed with disquiet. He was sharpening his iron claws and his horrible fangs on a stone, and they were like daggers and were full of deadly poison that could kill instantly.

Even though Carchoroth was possessed, he still had a corner of his mind that was his own even with the demon in his body. That demon in his body was the most ancient and most terrible of his entire race. Some say that it was the very first and master of them all. His name had been Brahma. Of course, you may have heard his name before, and there have been many legends about him in after days because his spirit lived on even after Lúthien and Beren's day and after he at last left Carchoroth's body. But Brahma had been horrible and ever-tormented Carchoroth's soul, for it was the strongest of all demons. He was also sneaky and cunning, and he had corrupted the hearts of countless Men and Elves. Many say that he was responsible for most of the betrayals among them and blamed him for famines and droughts, and they were right. He loved chaos and thought death was a sport.

Morgoth had admired this in the demon and had offered for him to join him as his chief servant. That was if he would give him all of his own demons so that Morgoth could summon them up into his own servants for the use of even greater armies. He promised to set him even above Sauron if he would do this, but Brahma had refused, saying that he had been upon the earth and brought evil to the world even before him. But Morgoth always got what he wanted. He was the father of all evil, and he captured Brahma in the body of a horrible serpent and had been waiting for ages for the right wolf to cast him into to make him the greatest of all.

Carchoroth had once been a normal wolf. He became a wolf-lord of old and the most competent. He had been born already of large size and had been given strength unmatched by any wolf or even in many werewolves. Carchoroth had been Morgoth's favorite wolf, and he had been sent on many raids and plunders of Men's homes and even the Elves of long ago. His sight was keener than any of his race, and his ears were even sharper. But the greatest sense that he possessed was his sense of smell. He could track a small conney hiding in its burrow from miles away. He was fast, especially for his size. He was perfect and had never failed his master in his life. That was why Morgoth decided to take the next step and make Carchoroth even more useful to him.

He brought Carchoroth to him and cut his own wrist, allowing Carchoroth to drink his own dark blood. In doing this, Carchoroth became the most bloodthirsty wolf for his kind and needed many men to devour. As he drank more and more from his master through the years, his thirst for blood became unquenchable. He began to prefer the soft flesh of children and infants. These were almost always in good supply for him, as sad as it is to hear. And when he could not get it, he went out hunting, devouring whatever creature crossed his path. This pleased Morgoth very much, and at last, he decided that he would again unleash Brahma into the world using Carchoroth.

He sent for Carchoroth and commanded Brahma into his body. Carchoroth had no strength to fight Brahma. He transformed then into a Warg; the mightiest on Earth.

Brahma had been a vengeful spirit, and he was beginning to devour that little corner that belonged to Carchoroth so that he could take over his mind entirely and perhaps overthrow Morgoth, which was something that he never managed to do or ever would have done. Carchoroth, even though he was evil, had been strong of will before his possession and prideful. He was his own master. He only followed Morgoth's lead because he gave him great glory and power. Brahma hated that, so he tried to destroy anything that was left of Carchoroth's soul. If he did, Brahma would have complete control of him. But so far, he had not succeeded. Other demons had their houses under control, but Carchoroth could still speak with his own voice and commanded his own body, and Brahma could only influence him.

Lúthien and Beren stood before him, fighting the urge to flee or cry out. Before they could do either, though, Carchoroth began speaking.

"The sorceress?" he growled, and his voice was hollow and chilling.

"I am the vampiress and sorceress, Gwendling," Lúthien answered.

"Oh, are you? What purpose have you in Angband?"

"I have come hither to see Melkor."

Carchoroth shivered at the name Melkor. Melkor was Morgoth's first name. That is what the Valar called him before when he was still one of them. Very few dared to say that name. They say a curse would fall upon the ones that spoke it.

"And what do you desire of... Melkor?" Carchoroth demanded, hesitating to say the name but saying it anyway to make himself appear more terrible.

"I am the eyes and ears of Melkor the Ruler of the World! I need not discuss the matters of the Master with his dog!"

"Dog! I am Warden of the Black Gate! No one passes without my leave, not even the sorceress of Thuringwethil! What sort of news would make you leave your lands in Thuringwethil and bring you here? You were assigned to Minis Tirith and put under Sauron's command!"

"You insolent fool!" Lúthien said with indignation. "It was Sauron who sent me! Here is his seal! I have come to offer some of his Wargs as tribute."

She held out Sauron's seal that he had surrendered to her along with the keys to Minis Tirith. Carchoroth recognized it at once. Beren crouched low and let out growl and Carchoroth looked at him with interest, sizing him up.

"Fine wolf there. He no doubt will be of great service to Melkor."

Carchoroth scowled and moved towards the gates to open them. Lúthien's heart leaped and Beren sprang to his feet. He was anxious to get into Angband, and neither Lúthien nor Beren could believe this stroke of fortune. Huan had warned them against the 'gatekeeper' of Angband, and it seemed almost too easy.

Then, suddenly, Carchoroth halted. He sucked in a large draught of air, and then he turned around, and his eyes were glowing with such malice that Lúthien and Beren were convinced that he would devour them then and there. But instead, he came towards Lúthien and snuffed the air about her. She showed him her fangs hissed at him, and drew her wings about her like a bat. Then Carchoroth turned and snuffed the air about Beren. He snapped his jaws at Carchoroth in warning, but the Warg was not daunted. Instead, he laughed.

"A little witch from Thuringwethil and her pet wolf, eh?" he said suspiciously.

"I am a Maia!" Lúthien corrected.

"Well, I must say that you do look to be who you claim you are, but you do not smell like a demon at all. AM I NOT A DEMON MYSELF!"

A dramatic change had come over Carchoroth's voice. It had been Brahma speaking, not Carchoroth. The wolf tore at his fur and let out an anguished cry. Beren and Lúthien took a step back, but then Carchoroth seemed to contain himself again, and Brahma did not speak again.

"What is your name?" he demanded of Beren.

"Draugluin, Sire of Wolves," Beren answered.

"Draugluin?" Carchoroth sneered. "It is an honor."

This was where Beren and Lúthien made their most terrible mistake. For long had Carchoroth known that Draugluin had been killed by Huan. That was why Carchoroth had been posted to guard the gates. He knew now that his suspicions had been right all along.

"That pathetic servant of yours is not a wolf at all!" he declared. "He is only a Man!"

"A Man?" Lúthien tried to sound puzzled. "No, of course not!"

"I believe that is the most foul insult a fellow wolf could give another," Beren growled.

"YES INDEED HE IS A MAN!" Carchoroth bellowed. "DO YOU THINK ME BLIND!"

Carchoroth took a step towards them, and Beren stepped before Lúthien to protect her if Carchoroth should attack, but Carchoroth grabbed Beren and threw him aside as if he were a pebble. Beren cried out as he flew up into the air, high above Carchoroth and poor Lúthien, who was now being circled by the Warg as though he were a vulture waiting for a fresh kill. A look of desperate terror was upon her face. Beren fell to the ground, and his cry was cut short, for the wind was knocked out of him, and it took all of his will to lift himself up again.

"Do you take me for a fool?" Carchoroth shouted at Lúthien. "I have fed on too many of his kind not to recognize their scent! I should have picked it up sooner. Neither are you a sorceress nor a vampiress! Well, perhaps you are a sorceress. It takes more than great skill to give a human the semblance of a wolf. You have that mortal upon your leash. You chose your slave wisely. They are trustier servants than Orcs, I know that at least."

"Aye," Lúthien did not fail to stay in character. "Orcs are treacherous. What a useless, ruined race! I cannot see why Melkor would need them. He could use his infinite strength and power to create greater beings of majesty. I shall speak of these matters when I am alone with him."

"Your scent is a strange scent; one I have not smelt for many years, but I am Carchoroth!"

"Melkor has summoned for me, you wretch!" Lúthien hissed. "Do not waste my time or your Master's! Stand aside! Open those gates or you shall pay dearly for it in the end!"

Carchoroth held up his hand and growled, and his iron claws grew in front of Lúthien's eyes. She understood the warning and bit her lip so that she would show no outward sign of fear. Beren managed to his feet, but Carchoroth scooped him up again and threw him beside Lúthien. He did not throw him so high this time, but with no less vigor. Beren landed, bounced, and was burned and cut by the jagged earth underneath him as he rolled at Lúthien's feet.

"I hope I do not have any broken bones!" Beren wheezed. "What are we going to do, Tinúviel? Carchoroth does not need sight to tell who we are! Shall I cut off his nose!"

"Play your part, and let me handle this."

"You do not know what to do either!"

"I shall do what I must.

"Silence!" Carchoroth sprang in front of Lúthien.

The wolf drew in a rattling breath, snuffling the air deeply. Then he sneered triumphantly.

"I know what you are now!" he said triumphantly. "You spoke in half truths before. You do reek that of a Maia, but I smell Elf as well!"

His eyes flashed, and he took a step towards Lúthien, snarling threateningly. He hated Elves most of all the races. It was the Maia scent that made him hesitant in killing her then and there.

"Spies!" Carchoroth howled with rage. "Spies and rebels! Murderers and traitors!"

"What has my race have to do with anything?" she demanded. "What matters is my loyalty to Melkor!"

"Ah, but not only do I know what you are," Carchoroth said with a sinister smile. "I know who you are. There is but one Half-Maia upon this earth, and that is the child of Elu Thingol and his whore Melian: Lúthien Tinúviel! If you had wished to come to Angband, then you shall have your wish. You shall see so much of Angband that you shall soon have no wit or voice to beg for mercy anymore! You shall become the most miserable of all the slaves of Morgoth!"

Then Lúthien felt her knees buckle beneath her, and she fell.

"Tinúviel!" Beren cried.

She felt something pulling at her veins, in her every fiber of her being, but what it was, she did not know. She thought she heard her mother's voice. Her disguise fell away, and Lúthien stood again, radiant and terrible. Something divine had possessed her, and she was suddenly fearless before the wolf. Carchoroth was surprised and even blinded by her illuminated beauty, and Beren stepped aside, fearful.

"Let us pass!" her voice was sonorous. "You shall let us pass!"

"I shall not obey any command a thrall gives me!" Carchoroth answered, but he was cowering upon the earth now.

"Oh, woe-begotten spirit, fall now into dark oblivion, and forget for a while the dreadful doom of life!"

And then Lúthien began to sing, and her voice and her song was beyond lovely. Miraculously, Carchoroth's eyes became heavy. Never before had he slept, even as a pup, but Lúthien's arts were very powerful. When she had suddenly burst with such a beautiful but terrible light, Beren had shrunk away from it in fear. It was unlike any other light. It was brighter than sunlight, but it did not cause him pain when he looked at it. And then Carchoroth fell to the ground and fell into deep slumber.

Lúthien stood for a moment, gasping for air, and then she fell again. The power she had felt stream through her body left her as soon as it had come and left her feeling drained and weak.

Beren feared her at first. When she turned to him, he recoiled, and she looked pained so that he stepped towards her gingerly.

"Do you not recognize me?"

"No. How-how did you do that?" he stammered.

"The Great Power that I told you of. As I have said before, I am merely a vessel of unknown power."

"Whatever it was, it saved us!" Beren said. "Thank Ilúvatar! I was sure he that damned wolf was about to leap at us when he spoke in that horrible voice!"

"Yes! Thank Ilúvatar!"

Lúthien rested for a moment to catch her breath and put back on her disguise.

"Come on, Beren," she told him. "We can pass now that the Warden of the Gate of Hell is asleep. I do not know how long he shall stay that way, but I do not want to be here when he awakens. If he does, then he shall raise an alarm."

"I should like to cut his throat," Beren grumbled. "That way he shall not hinder us again."

He drew out Angrist and approached the slumbering beast, stepping towards it slowly and carefully. But when he was about to end his foul life then and there, Carchoroth stirred in his sleep and seemed for a moment to awaken. Beren sprang aside and the monster slept undisturbed.

"Beren, do not tempt fate!" Lúthien cried.

Beren hesitated, and then sheathed the dagger with a curse. Then they passed through the iron gates, avoiding Carchoroth's sleeping form, and they stepped into Angband at last.

Lúthien and Beren almost choked on the smoke that greeted them. The air was stiflingly hot, for lava spewed from the volcano, filling little streams that zigzagged along the ground. Countless slaves were being worked on the great monsters, and others were being beaten or whipped. One of the thralls fell at Beren's feet, exhausted from the heat and toil of the day. He was a young elf, strong because of his life of thralldom and endless work. He was drenched with his own sweat, and his hair was long and unkempt. He looked up at Beren, and his eyes bulged with fear. Then he shut his eyes and covered his head.

"Get up, my good fellow," Beren said. The sound of his voice reminded him that he was in the guise of a Warg. The poor lad was sure he would kill him, but Beren pulled the elf to his feet. The elf thrashed at him, and when Beren let him go, he ran from him and dodged the whips of a few Orcs standing nearby.

Lúthien had to bite her tongue to keep from shouting at an Orc as he pushed a Man forward. He fell at the iron boots of an Orc captain.

"This one refuses to work!" the Orc told his master.

"These Men," the captain grumbled. "They always fight. At least the Elves do not put up such a great resistance. They are just disobedient, which is extremely annoying! It slows down business. The Big Boss wants his machinery operating, and if there is any glitches, then he shall come to see a few of us die personally. What's his number?"

"Here's his arm."

"All right. I recognize it. And he has been working here for about ten years, right? I think this one has been reported to me before. Many times before," he gave the man a stern eye.

"Yes, sir! Twelve years it is!"

"That's not the number I guessed, ape!"

"Sorry, sir. My mistake, sir."

"Anyway, twelve years is too long for a Man. How old is he?"

"How old are you?"

The man refused to answer.

"He's ailing and getting weak," the Orc captain said, "but he shall make use yet. The wolves have been complaining that they have not had man-flesh for days now. We've been waiting for one to die out quickly to stop their jabbering. If we do not feed them, they shall become hungry and angry enough to try Orc-flesh."

"Yes, sir!"

The Orc saluted and grabbed the man again, dragging him away. Some of the other slaves watched him being dragged off. Many of them would die the same way. Those that were caught stalling soon received a blow or felt the sting of Orc whips.

Beren urged Lúthien on. They could not help any of these people. If they did, they would have a good chance of becoming one of them. The slaves took no notice of Lúthien and Beren as they passed by. The Orcs watched them with interest and fear, but they did not stop them or speak out.

Lúthien and Beren stood before the tunnel that led to the halls of Angband. The tunnel was dark and musty, but once they had walked on for a few miles, they took off their disguises. The tunnel at last ended after they had been walking deeper and deeper underground. And there, a labyrinth was there to greet them: A series of enchanted stairways leading to great halls filled with monsters and snares. One dead end would be the last place you turned to. Only the most trusted servants could pass through this labyrinth safely.

Beren stood with awe and anxiety at all the mazes of steps. There were hundreds of them, and from many of them, he could hear the murmur of beasts. He had not expected this. How could Lúthien and Beren find their ways out, let alone stay alive? Each tunnel looked as dark and as uninviting as the next. He had no clue which way they were supposed to go first. His head began to swim. He was falling into a panic.

"How are we going to get through all of this?" he cried, and his voice echoed off the great stone walls. The murmurs stopped, and there was a heavy silence. Lúthien set her baggage down in front of her.

"Do not worry," she said quietly. "Do you think I would come here unprepared?"

She drew out her sickle dagger and set it carefully in front of her.

"What good will your dagger do us? We have been through the ordeal with Sauron, Celegorm, the marshes, but this? We do not even know where to begin with this!"

"Be quiet!" Lúthien hissed. "This dagger is the only thing that can get us through here in one piece. Now before you rouse every creature from here to Valinor, be quiet! I need to concentrate."

Beren shut his mouth. Lúthien ran her fingers over the edge of the blade and said a word of command. Then she took a step back, gently pushing Beren backwards also. Beren stared at her. Lúthien began to spin it and stepped away from it carefully. It spun and spun, more slowly, and then it stopped, pointing to one of the tunnels. Then Lúthien picked it up from the floor and handed it to Beren, breathing a little heavier now.

"Tinúviel? What is it?" he asked, putting a hand under her chin. "Was that magic?"

"I suppose, but I am tired. There are many things in these tunnels, visible and invisible. They have their own methods of attack, but they cannot harm me. Do not be surprised if I begin to lag behind you or stumble on my feet. I will be getting tired, that is all. Just take whatever tunnel the dagger directs you to."

"Tinúviel?"

"Yes?"

"Is the Great Power deadly?" Beren asked with concern. "You are Half-Maia and you do not know your limits."

"Well..."

Lúthien climbed into the next tunnel, not answering. Beren followed after her.

"Is it deadly?" he repeated.

"Well, there is a reason the Maiar reveal their power. Arda is the Marred World, it drains life out of you."

"WHAT!"

"Keep your voice down!"

"Are you telling me that you can die if you use too much of your power?"

"I do not know."

"Tinúviel!"

"Great Power comes with a high price, Beren, so that it is not abused."

"But-"

"I will be all right!"

"Are you so sure about that?"

"Just keep moving, and stop worrying about me! Take the left tunnel."

Beren looked into her eyes and climbed into the next tunnel. Lúthien began to follow after him.

"Get back!" he cried and pushed her out of the tunnel.

"What is it?"

"Wolves!"

"Did you expect to meet anything less?" Lúthien snickered. "Remember our disguises. Shall we proceed?"

"You stay behind me, Tinúviel."

Lúthien began to lag behind, as she had predicted, when they entered the next tunnel. Beren shook his head and set the stone down, waiting for Lúthien. She caught up with him, and her face was becoming very pale.

"Need a rest?" Beren murmured.

"Yes!" she exhaled and sat down.

"All right. I think you should stop using your magic for now, Tinúviel."

"No. I am fine," Lúthien assured him, wiping sweat off her brow.

"No you are not."

"Yes, I am."

She rose to her feet.

"Where does it say to go now?"

"Straight," Beren answered, getting up too.

"Lead onward!"

He helped her into the tunnel. This time, there were no wolves or other creatures, but two tunnels. Beren raised the stone. It pointed to the tunnel on their left. He raised an eyebrow and turned the stone around in his hands. It pointed to the same tunnel, but the other tunnel was shedding light. The stone was pointing to a dark and uninviting tunnel. Even he could hear something stirring inside. He was very confused. He looked at Lúthien doubtfully.

"The stone knows the way, and it never lies," Lúthien said, reading his mind.

"But it almost sounds like there is a dragon in there! How can we possibly get through? And the other tunnel does not look half as dangerous. What would be the harm of it?"

"This is an enchanted labyrinth, Beren. That tunnel only leads you back to where we started: The beginning of the labyrinth. This is the way," Lúthien insisted.

"All right. I trust you."

He got down on his knees to crawl into the next tunnel, which was extremely narrow, but Lúthien crawled ahead of him and peered into the next chamber. She drew back and shrank against the wall. When she looked back at Beren, she was deathly pale.

"Beren," she said in a low voice. "There is a Balrog in there."

"A what?"

"A Balrog! A Balrog from the pits! They are the mightiest of Morgoth's servants save Sauron!"

"A Balrog?"

"Yes!"

"Are you sure?"

She nodded, and Beren slammed his fist to the ground. He had, of course, expected to meet a Balrog in Morgoth's dwelling, but he did not know if he could face one now. Balrogs were like giants compared to him, and they only needed their flaming whips to kill him. Only one person had dared to fight a Balrog. He had been a strong Elvin-king in the ancient days. He had died facing it. Beren would never be able to defeat a Balrog, but he drew his sword anyway.

"No, Beren," Lúthien said. "Put away your sword. It is no use against a Balrog. No mortal can withstand a Balrog. I doubt our disguises will fool such a creature. They walk in darkness. We must find another way. We must face Morgoth, and I am already weary."

Beren gazed into the tunnel. There was the Balrog, snapping his long, fiery whip and muttering to himself in his master's abominable language. Not even the Elves knew exactly what the Balrogs were. Many believed that they were Maiar, some of Melian's folk that had fallen into Morgoth's service long ago. Although there were only seven, they were brutal and nigh invincible. They were large and tall with two mighty wings of shadow and smoke. They were covered from head to toe in black fur like a horse and grew a mane like a horse; only it was a mane of flames. They had ugly horns that grew from their head like a bull's and a squashed nose and ears like a bat. Their eyes were always yellow like a cat's with slits for pupils. They could spout out flame from their nostrils and jaws. Morgoth used Balrogs to torture prisoners. Torture from a Balrog was an experience that could lead to madness. Many slaves had become thralls at the mere threat of such torment. The Balrogs were experts on pain that few could endure. They were Morgoth's most trusted guards and released upon battlefields to burn and destroy all in their path. They were like dragons in that they spouted fire, but they carried weapons and other instruments. And unlike dragons they did not seem to have obvious weaknesses.

The labyrinth stairs had hundreds of steps to each. They winded upwards and downwards, backwards and forwards. Climbing the flights of steps was wearisome to Beren who was a mortal, after all, but for Lúthien, it was a torment. She collapsed on the steps.

"I cannot go any further, Beren," she muttered.

"No. We must not stop. If Morgoth's servants find us on the steps to his throne, even if they do not see through the disguises, it could be the end for us."

"I must rest for just a little while, just a little while..." Lúthien closed her eyes slowly.

Beren sighed and lifted her into his arms, willing to carry her to the top of the stairs. When they reached the summit, he put her down, and they both rested for a brief while. She took up the guide stone and stood upon her feet.

"I am still fatigued and it will only get worse," she said, "but we must go on."

They passed into the next tunnel that would lead them to the next series of steps. Beren had his sword drawn, and Lúthien reached for her dagger and clung to him, but there was nothing here. All the other tunnels they had passed through had been filled with monsters and deadly traps. The sudden absence of danger made it seem all the more perilous.

"Tinúviel?"

"I know."

"What does this mean? What other traps are in this place? Sorcery, perhaps?"

Beren raised his sword.

"Do you really believe that shall be of any use to you?" Lúthien said quietly, turning into a tunnel.

"Then what should I do?"

Beren turned to her, but she was gone. He gazed into the tunnel into which she had gone and there was nothing. Likewise, when she looked behind her, he was gone. The place had some strange power like the Girdle of Melian to confuse and even distort reality.

"Tinúviel?" He thought he heard her voice and was about to answer when he heard a familiar clicking sound. His heart sank horribly, and he turned around. It was a Spider of Ungoliant, but this spider was even larger than the ones that he had faced in Nan Dungortheb.

Beren ran for the stairs, only to find them held against him by webbing. He was trapped like a fly. The spider crawled forward with astonishing speed. Beren drew his sword, and the spider s fangs bit into it, and the sword fell from Beren s hands. If he had been fool enough to reach for it, he would not have needed to be drugged for the spider to drink its fill.

Beren dove under the spider, but it reached for him and curled its legs about him, crushing him and sickening him. Beren kicked and tried to squirm free with all his strength. The stinger pierced him and he felt the poison in him again. He let out a defiant cry. His vision blurred, and he knew he was about to swoon. The spider let him drop to the floor. He fought the drugs.

"To think after being poisoned like this before, I should be immune to it by now," he muttered to himself. And then Beren drew out the half forgotten shirt knife, Angrist. "Time to put the blade to the test," he muttered.

As the spider sprang forward with its fangs, Beren rose in defense. He slashed at the spider s legs. They fell smoothly off, and the spider shrieked in agony and fled, having only six legs now. Beren fell to the ground, exhausted and staring at Angrist. He swooned, but then he heard Lúthien screaming blood-curdling screams. Those screams stirred him to life. He sprang to his feet, plunged through the webbing with Angrist, and leapt down the steps.

Lúthien had been plummeted into darkness. She cautiously put a hand forward, groping for a wall or any sign of life, and she suddenly put her hand upon something in the dark, and she realized that it was bone, and she knew that it was not animal bone, but a man's bones. She sprang back, screaming like a banshee, and she felt the crunch of bones beneath her feet. She backed into a wall of damp earth and placed her hand on a skull. The smell of blood and decay was like a heavy curtain in the air, and this muffled her cries, and they echoed in her ears. The stench could not be ignored, neither the drastic heat. She almost fainted. She had realized where she was. She was in the pits of Angband, the pits of Baradur, and from there, none returned.

"At last, she has quieted down," said a voice, and suddenly, there was light. It was the light of a pale lamp.

Lúthien looked into the face of the one that held the lamp, and she saw that it was an Elf, but he had deep, jagged scars and bruises upon his face. The wounds were fresh. He had been tortured, and Lúthien, in pity, reached out and touched the scars. There was a curse, and the Elf struck her, for the touch pained him. He let out an anguished cry, and Lúthien placed her hand on his shoulder.

"Do not touch me!" the Elf cried. "Stay away! Stay away!

Lúthien did as she was told and rubbed her jaw.

"Do not bother him," said a voice. "That is Anglos. He has faced much torture in the past few days. The Orcs have found no more use for him."

"And who are you?" she turned to the outline of a figure.

"I am Gwindor. I was once an Elvin-lord, but my people have forgotten me, and I am a thrall."

"He is a living miracle," said Anglos.

"Nay," Gwindor answered. "I am only a hardened survivor, an Elf blessed by luck, but perhaps I was not blessed. I am alive, yet, but I am miserable. What have I done to deserve such punishment? I suppose it was only a stroke of ill luck, and my fortune at being alive is a stroke of good, but not when you are down in this place."

"Nonsense. You have been down here for ten years! No thrall lives that long be he Elvin lord or common Man!"

"Please step into the light," Lúthien asked. "I have heard that name before, and I would like to see your face."

"I am afraid I cannot move much. The Orcs get little sport from one so numb, but nonetheless, they have not forgotten me. They fabricate many ways to try and break me, and my face would be an unpleasant sight for such a tender one as you."

Lúthien took the lamp and raised it to see Gwindor's face. Though he was much scarred, he was still beautiful, for his eyes were green, and his hair, though it was dirty, was golden. Or was it perhaps white? He had aged, seemingly. Torture had made an Elf age.

"Who are you?" Anglos asked her.

"Tinúviel."

The Elf smiled and admired her beauty. Then he asked, "Where do you come from? You are not one of our people, alas!"

"I come from Doriath," Lúthien answered.

Anglos and the other cried out in lamentation. "Aye Elbereth! Can it be that the Enemy has invaded Doriath, one of the Hidden Kingdoms?"

"No," Lúthien said soothingly.

"Give us news," Gwindor ordered. "Here, any tidings from the earth can give us the spark of hope needed to endure another day of torment."

"I came seeking a Quest. Beren son of Barahir may come to rescue me, and you two may be of some aid."

"No one can be rescued from the pit," Anglos said grimly, "and my time is near."

Then Anglos began to weep, and Gwindor rolled his eyes heavenward and asked, "What is your Quest?"

"To recapture a Silmaril from the Iron Crown and take it back to Menegroth in Doriath."

Even Anglos burst out laughing at this.

"Oh," Gwindor wiped tears from his eyes. "Thank you. Thank you. Down here, laughter is not something you receive often."

Lúthien cast herself upon the ground and began to weep. She realized now how foolish the Quest seemed.

"Come now!" Gwindor said, still laughing. "Do not weep! We did not mean to laugh at you!"

Still, Lúthien wept, and Anglos and Gwindor sat beside her and wrapped their arms about her, still laughing.

"Well, it is a good thing that we have such company. This maiden is fair to look upon and stirs laughter. I wonder what use the Orcs shall make of you. I hope they do not choose you for our fates."

"What would that be?" Lúthien asked apprehensively.

"Mine," Gwindor told her, "is to live forever in torment. I slaughtered one of the Enemy's greatest fighters in the Battle of the Bragollach, and Anglos..."

Anglos began to weep again, and Gwindor cast down his eyes. Lúthien sat down and sang softly, and the two Elves listened to her voice intently, and they forgot their torment for a while. When she no longer had the heart to sing, she began to weep with despair.

"Do not weep, fair maiden," Anglos said. "Your voice has healing power, and I hope the Sindar are as yet unstained. Gwindor, guard this maiden when the Orcs come for me."

"Speaking of the Orcs, here they come now," Gwindor said with a light in his eyes.

"Oh no," he moaned.

"Farewell, Anglos. You were great company. I shall see you on the other side of Hell."

There was a sudden light. Lúthien shielded her eyes from the light and heard laughter, Orcs' laughter of course. They opened the gates and filed into the pit. Lúthien quickly hid her face in the folds of her cloak and her disguise returned. Anglos and Gwindor gaped in astonishment. The Orcs could not see her face and thought for a moment she was a new prisoner and squealed with delight.

"We must examine this one later, but now, Gwindor, it is time!"

"NO!" Gwindor drew back and covered his face.

The Orcs laughed harshly and reached for him, but Lúthien cried against them and revealed the face and fangs of the sorceress of Thuringwethil.

"I am no prisoner, I came to feed, you fools!" she hissed. "Unless you wish to be my next victim instead of one of these, begone!"

"Sorceress…" the Orcs' green skin blanched to gray at the sight of her. "What an unexpected surprise."

Gwendling had once been the haunt of the Thrall Vaults. When she returned to Angband after flying to and fro with messages or some mischief, she could no longer stomach the strict diet of Orcs and meaner things and required better sustenance. The vampiress was allowed at times to gorge herself upon the sweeter meat of Men and Elves. It was a privilege only the highest ranking blood suckers enjoyed. There were always certain prisoners they could not touch, but the weaker ones and those of low birth and worth were fair game.

"Silence!"

"Forgive us, Dark Lady, but the Boss has marked these two for other things. You must find nourishment elsewhere."

"What other things have they been marked for?" she demanded.

"Boldog was slain and we need a replacement."

She did not understand what they were talking about. Elves did not serve the Enemy. Men and Dwarves perhaps, but the Eldar would rather die than serve Morgoth as anything more than a chained thrall.

"Why these two?"

"They were both captured in the war and are the most rebellious of the thralls. I suppose we only need one," the Orcs consented. "We would never dream of taking a bone from a wolf. Which do you want?"

Lúthien exchanged a quick glance with the two thralls. She could not possibly choose between them. The Orcs could not wait for her to make up her mind. They unshackled Anglos, Gwindor was too close to Lúthien for their comfort. Anglos begged for mercy, and though he fought with all his strength and will, they carried him away. It took five strong Orcs to hold him. Then they turned to Gwindor.

"You shall watch before the sorceress has you," they said and seized him by the arm and dragged him forward. Gwindor had a terrified look upon his face, and then the Orcs closed the door, taking Lúthien and the struggling Anglos with them. She had no choice but to follow.

"Where are you taking them?" she asked with curiosity.

The Orcs laughed. "One thing that has always amused us and the Boss," he said, "is that the Elves are supposed to be the First-born and therefore the wisest of the races and most beloved. And yet the wisest among them question our origin. They ask: Where did the Orcs, these demons, come from? Go on, Elf. Ask me: Where did the Orcs come from?"

"Knowing that you were created by Morgoth is enough. I do not want the horrid details!" Gwindor answered.

"Ask!"

He tugged on his chains again and he asked, "Where did your foul race spring from? Where did you spawn and how?"

"Ah," the Orc seemed satisfied. "That is a very good question. The Elves curse us, not knowing that we truly are a part of them."

"No! That is not true!"

"But it is. Our fathers were some of the original 144 Elves that awoke at the Beginning of Time. Morgoth captured several of them and tortured them and transformed them into Orcs."

No! That is impossible! Lúthien thought at once but said, "The Elves are supposed to be pure and incorruptible."

The Orcs gave her a strange look, "It is not our place to question the Dark Lady. We shall prove to you that anything can be twisted into the Master's service."

They came to another chamber. Lúthien could hear the screams long before she reached the gates. The screams echoed throughout the place and rang in her ears. She was blinded with tears, and she refused to look at those being tortured. They were all Elves.

Anglos was forced upon an iron chair and shackled down, and he begged piteously.

"This one refuses to work?" said what must have been an Orc, though he looked strange. His face looked ordinary, like a thousand other faces. His skin was blackened, as though he had been burnt from head to toe and he was still healing, and he was bald and much taller than an Orc had a right to be. "He is no sport either. A little pain is all he needs to start squealing like a little girl. But a mind is a terrible thing to waste, and we could use his experience upon the battlefield. He has some strength left in him still I can imagine."

"I will never serve you!" Anglos cried.

"You will!"

Anglos struggled with his bonds, and the thing that was not an Orc struck him until he spit up blood.

"It is time!"

"NO!"

They forced him to drink some foul liquid, and then there was a sudden burst of flame, and a shadow stepped in through the chamber, casting Orcs aside with its fiery whip. It was the Balrog Lúthien had faced before, and she hid away her face. The fire demon stopped before Anglos, and Anglos lost his mind.

"Aye Elbereth! Stay away from me, demon!"

The Balrog reached for him, and he tore him from his seat, the chains snapped. An Orc took hold of Gwindor firmly and forced him to watch as the Balrog lifted Anglos into the air so that he could see his eyes. Anglos was screaming and pleading, but the Balrog's eyes glowed suddenly, like gleaming coals and Anglos began to sob and beg, and then he was silent.

"What is your name?" an Orc demanded.

"I do not know! I do not know!" Anglos cried and began to weep again.

Then the Balrog raised his hand, and his flaming mane became a black flame. The Balrog reached for kindling and built a fire of this strange flame, and then he cast Anglos into the fire.

Lúthien let out a sharp breath, not daring to scream. Gwindor was cursing and shouting, and then the Balrog reached into the fire and plucked Anglos out again. But it was no longer Anglos. Anglos had been transformed, and he writhed upon the ground, his skin blackened and his face hideously deformed. He resembled an Orc!

"Behold our new Orc captain, Anog!" sneered one of the Orcs, and he gave to Anglos an Orc scimitar. He recoiled and threw them away from himself.

"Take him to the breeding grounds!"

"Aye Elbereth!" Lúthien whispered to herself in horror. At last she knew the secret. The Orcs had once been Elves, but they were twisted into monsters! It could not be true, but she had seen it with her own eyes. The Orcs had not lied. She almost forgot herself. If she had, she would have out-screamed the unfortunates in torture, and she covered her ears and closed her eyes in mental anguish. How many Elves had received this damnation? How many captive Elves had reached this fate? How many Elvin-lords had not really died in battle but had been made to serve in battle? How many of her own people, the Sindar, had been brainwashed and corrupted by Morgoth?

Gwindor was still cursing and an Orc struck him and growled, "Quiet! You could easily become one of us, you know! Return him to his cell!"

Lúthien could not contain her rage any longer. There was a flash of light, and the Orcs about her fell dead, and there was a mighty wind that made all cower to the floor, and the Balrog's flame nearly went out. He turned his eyes on Lúthien, and she fell to the floor, exhausted. She reached for Anglos and Gwindor, and he looked at her with helpless confusion. The Balrog could see through her disguise, and he swung his whip and it found itself around her arm. She screamed with pain as the fiery thongs bit into her skin. The fire caused the pain to double. Then the Balrog pulled on the whip so that she fell forward out of the shadows. She screamed with agony at this. The thongs were tearing at her flesh. She almost swooned. The pain was so great. The Balrog began dragging her forward with the whip. She began screaming once more.

Lúthien clutched at her arm.

"Yavanna!" she cried, rocking backward and forward and gritting her teeth. "Aye Elbereth!" Blood was dripping from the gashes the thongs had left, and the sleeve of her dress was torn where the whip had landed.

The Balrog sprang before Lúthien and reached for her, but Anglos put himself before her, and he was cast down by the Balrog's fiery whip. Lúthien stood in the shadows, her hands clutching Gwindor's in fear and amaze. The Balrog cracked his whip at them, but they dove under his legs. The flames were close behind them as the Balrog shot fire from his nostrils, but they toppled into the next tunnel to safety. There was a blast of heat and they heard the Balrog roar. Lúthien shoved Gwindor against the wall and she fell flat on the floor as a pillar of fire flowed through the tunnel. She did not see what became of Gwindor, for the ground suddenly gave way beneath her. She had unwittingly stepped upon some trap and began to fall.

"Tinúviel?" Beren called after dragging himself up another flight of stairs. "Tinúviel? "

It was then that the stone cavern changed suddenly so that he found himself standing in a wild, untamed land. Beside him were the waters of Tarn Aeluin, for he recognized them immediately, and they were red with blood still. About him were carrion birds, the ones that he had so often seen in his troubled dreams.

"No," Beren said.

"My lord," said a thin voice, and a boy stepped out of the shadows.

Hathaldir? But you are...

"What? Dead?" he snorted. "Yes, I am dead thanks to you. I needed no reminder of that."

Beren fell on his knees. The boy was as he had been the day he died, blood still fresh upon his clothes and open wounds. The only thing different about him was a strange gleam of indifference in his eyes. Hathaldir took a step towards him, and Beren slowly rose to his feet, preparing to run, but he was paralyzed. He was looking upon Hathaldir whom he had not seen for almost five years. This was the boy from his company, the boy he had failed to save.

"I forgive you for letting me die," the boy said suddenly, as though he had read or guessed his mind. "I forgive you, but I do not want you to leave me this time."

It was then that another figure emerged from the shadows and laid his hand on Hathaldir's shoulders.

"I am glad you have come home at last, my son," he said.

Beren turned his eyes away in pain. "Father?"

"It is time you joined us now."

Beren turned to face his father. His mother stood by his side.

"You are not real, are you? No! You are a phantom sent by Morgoth to provoke my fear."

" Is that what you truly think I am?" he answered.

"BEREN!" he heard Lúthien's screams.

"Tinúviel!"

He was about to spring after her when Belegund and Baragund, Gildor, and Radhruin, Arthad, and Ragnor, and all the others of the company barred his way.

"You poor wretch," said a voice, and Beren recognized Edrahil, and beside him was King Finrod. "You chose the wrong maiden to fall in love with."

"You cannot save her."

"My lord king?"

Beren was glad and felt wretched all at once at the sight of them all.

"You gave the ring to Tinúviel, did you not?" Barahir asked suddenly.

Beren was astonished and said, "Yes, and I still have your sword."

"Before you try to leave, I must ask you to come with us."

"Where?"

Then Beren noticed the carrion birds, and there was one that stood out among them all. It was a bird with a tuft of white feathers.

"Gorlim?" he said aloud, not realizing what he was saying.

"Gorlim is burning in Hell," Barahir told him curtly.

"Father, I do want to be with you again, but now is not the time," Beren said. "I am needed. I must go to Tinúviel now. You must go home, wherever that is, and rest in peace. I cannot go with you."

Hathaldir stepped before him.

"Stay here with us, Beren," he said in a cold voice. "Teach me to be a warrior."

"We need you, Beren," Gildor said.

"A young knight has duties to his King, Beren," said Finrod. "There is battle to be won."

They were closing in on him, and Beren was trapped. He suddenly had a great longing to join them, or to surrender completely to fate. That was when the carrion bird flapped its wings and transformed.

Gorlim stood before Beren, a great, illuminated wonder under his robes of rugged gray. He said in a commanding voice, "Be gone, phantoms! Be gone, woe begotten spirits, shades of longing. You are nothing but shadows of a morbid mind! Be gone!

The phantoms hissed at him suddenly, and then they faded away, leaving Beren standing near the flight of stairs in the maze, and Gorlim had disappeared, but his presence was still there, and Beren heard his voice.

Go to Lúthien now, Beren. She needs you.

Beren looked about for him, and he looked for the phantoms as well. He had a deep regret that they were gone, and he longed to be with his family more than he ever had, but then he heard Lúthien's summoning call and dashed off to find her.

Lúthien had fallen into some pit and could not find a way out. What was worse, it was filled with water that seemed to be rising. The water had risen to her chin, and she spluttered to keep her head out of the water. Suddenly a stone slab was dragged away from the top of the pit.

"Tinúviel?" she saw him crouching before the pit.

"Beren!" Lúthien cried joyfully, and she began laughing with relief. "I am so glad to see you! Where did the Balrog go?"

"There is no one here."

She was dismayed and relieved all at once, though more dismayed. "I fear I may have raised an alarm."

"That only means we must hurry."

Beren left the pit and came back with a long string of spider-web. He let it down and she climbed the rope to safety.

"Come on! We have to find our way out of here!" Beren told her.

He took hold of her arm as gently as he could, but she let out a cry of pain, cursed, and stamped her foot nonetheless. He shook his head and ripped off some of the cloth at his sleeve. With it, he carefully bandaged her wound.

"It was a Balrog," she said in explanation. She could not speak of the rest yet. "It was a near miss. Falling into that pit may have saved me."

He tore at his hair a moment, "You are wounded and you look half dead already! You have got to stop using your magic now, or you shall be defenseless against our chief danger: Morgoth!"

"I have no other choice," she answered feebly. "The disguises are no good without it unless you wish to run into a Balrog without even that precaution."

"Do you think he recognized your face?"

"I do not know how much Morgoth's servants know about me. We must keep ourselves masked."

They found themselves back in the original chamber the Balrog had been guarding. Beyond it was a stairway leading down to Morgoth's chamber. Lúthien clung to Beren when he turned to the last stairway.

"What is it?"

"Are we ready to go on? Can we face it?"

"We have already faced our greatest fears."

"You are right, but Morgoth himself is my greatest fear now."

Lúthien rose from the floor, and they descended the stairs. Before them was a narrow bridge. Far below was a pit of boiling lava and fire. There was nothing to hold onto. Crossing a fallen log hundreds of feet from the air would have been safer than this bridge.

Lúthien took a timid step forward and began balancing herself. Then she rested her other foot behind her carefully. Beren followed her example.

"There is little room to place your feet," Lúthien said. "And if you fall, well..."

"Careful!" Beren warned her when she wobbled a bit.

"I am all right."

She fell forward, and Beren nearly dove to join her, but she clutched the stones as she fell and pulled herself up.

"You are not using any enchantments right now, are you?"

"No."

"Well, do not fall, Tinúviel.

They both wobbled a great deal and almost fell off to their doom, but they at last leapt to the other side of the great gap of space. Now there stood an iron door. Engraved into it were gruesome pictures of torture and death and all sorts of malevolence. At the top were scriptures.

"What does it say?" Beren asked.

"I cannot read the dark tongue, and I have no desire to know what it could say anyway," Lúthien answered bitterly.

Then suddenly she laughed.

"What is so funny?"

"Everyone has tried to protect me from all the perils in the world, and here I am before Morgoth s throne hall!" she answered. "They all believed I was too frail and tender a maiden to face such peril. You thought so, my Father thought so, Daeron thought so, and Celegorm thought so. Even I almost believed it, but now I am here, in spite of everything. Really, there is nothing amusing about it, but comedy has always been a defense against fear, and that is what I need. I am so afraid..."

They were silent and breathed uneasily for a moment, and Beren said, "You should never have come here. This was my quest. I do not know what possessed me to bring you here. It was selfish love, and now we must both pay for it."

She snapped her fingers and once again appeared as the she-demon. Beren slipped on his wolf-skin. They could do nothing more to prepare themselves. They were both full of terror and dismay, but they knew that they had already entered Angband. They had entered into Hell itself. They could not turn back now. It was impossible. They may never see the light of day again. They may never see each other again. Both were suddenly convinced that the Quest for the Silmaril was a failure. They had not a chance in the world to steal a Silmaril and escape alive from the room.

It was Beren that at last spoke again, "There is no use delaying any longer. Morgoth's lackeys may come to discover us at any moment. I swore an oath. I am bound to go on, but you are in no way bound to come any further. You have a chance to escape yet. I do not want Morgoth to lay a hand upon you, no, not even to look upon you!"

His voice broke, and he fought back tears. Lúthien embraced him and kissed him, knowing it would indeed be the last time. She was weeping too, but she knew there was no longer time for it.

"I came all this way," she said, "and I cannot now return home. I lost the guide stone in the waters of that torture chamber. I would become lost in the labyrinth and dragged before Morgoth sooner or later. I would have to wander aimlessly, fighting off every Orc and Balrog and other such creatures until I was spent or finally destroyed. Besides, how could I abandon you now, in our darkest hour? If it is my fate to become Morgoth's captive and cause the Eldar's demise, then so be it. Better to end the fruitless wars and strife among my own kin."

Beren sighed, for he was utterly resigned to her will, but he said, "You are stronger than I."

"Or merely hopeless."

She rose to her feet and began pulling at the handle of the door. The door opened a crack, but neither of them entered quite yet. They both hesitated. Beren was watching Lúthien. He was very fearful of what might become of her. She still looked weak from using so much energy. Morgoth was much more than anything they had yet encountered, he had created the Balrogs and all such evils. Look what scar his Balrog had left her! Her arm was badly burned and swelling. If she were not elvish, the wound may have been worse. Elvin though she was, Beren loved her. He knew that if they failed, he would die before they could lay hands on her.

Lúthien sighed and stared at the floor. Then she spoke.

"Listen, Beren. We must go in through the door. I have been brooding over this plan of mine for a long while now, and you may not like it. Just remember: Whatever happens, I know what I am doing. All right?"

"What?" Beren blurted out grasping her by the shoulders. "What do you mean? What do you plan to do?"

"I cannot tell you. But remember my words, and remember I love you."

"Of course you do. I'm irresistible."

"Yes," Lúthien answered, and despite the horrors they had faced up to this point and the terror they would face soon, she laughed and kissed him. "You are."

"Now, tell me what the plan is."

"No."

"Then you must stay out here! Tell me what this great plan is!"

But Lúthien did not answer. She walked through the door, and Beren could not ask again. There was a heavy silence, and the air stank of evil. Lúthien and Beren stood before Morgoth and all of his terrible court alone. The real battle had begun.


	19. Chapter 19 Before the Throne of Darkness

Nineteen

Before the Throne of Darkness

Beren crawled after Lúthien, once again playing the part of a cringing servant. The chamber was cavernous and seemed to stretch for miles until it came to the throne of iron pyrite. The air was stagnant and reeked of death and blood. The only decorations were bones and complete skeletons representing each race of Middle-Earth, bleached stark white with jaws gaping open in silent screams. Torches were few, but it was not dim. The Silmarils was bright enough to light the hall alone. There was a small host of servants and bodyguards. There were many wicked men and wargs, but there were no Orcs. The Ruler of the World did not trust his own brood in his presence. Lúthien was glad for that at least. She would never be able to look upon an Orc in the same way again.

A Balrog was on either side of Morgoth, whips at their belts, eyes aflame. Lúthien half expected them to see through her disguise, but if they did they made no move. They were his Left and Right. They seemed to be made of stone rather than shadow and they never left Morgoth's side. The only thing that gave them away was their eyes constantly moving and one other thing. It was freezing, and their breath steamed like smoke from their nostrils.

Morgoth, the source of evil and self proclaimed Ruler of the World sat upon the Iron Throne in his dark majesty. He was colossal in stature, even taller than her own father, and his shoulders were twice as wide. His face was hidden by hood and shadow, and he wore a black iron mask, shaped into the features of a demon. Only his eyes could be seen. His eyes glowed an in-human gray and blue, or perhaps it was simply absorbing all colors. Those eyes could probe into any mind that could not withstand him, and there were not many that could. His power was great, and none could resist it. Even though he had once been a Vala, little of his old fairness was left to him. He had become a monster in all his years of evil and darkness. His home was under the earth and in the depths of its core. So they beheld the Evil One.

Upon his head lay the Iron Crown, a crude work of craft, not art. There, the three Silmarils were encrusted and kept friend and foe alike at a distance. The Silmarils shone brighter and more glorious than anything in that room. They were the only beautiful things they had seen in this hell. Lúthien and Beren looked up at the Silmarils in wonder and despair. The Silmarils were Fëanor's creation, supposed to have been made by capturing the heavenly light of the ancient Two Trees that had, before the Sun and Moon, been the only light of the world, in crystal or glass. Only Fëanor knew what substance they truly were made of or how the deed was accomplished. He had so coveted them that they destroyed him. Morgoth had seized them for his own. They shone with the brilliance of the Valar and the Blessed Lands, perfectly circular. The luminosity matched the brightness of the sun, and yet it was as gentle upon the naked eyes as moonlight. The light seemed a living thing, and they both wondered what sort of alchemy had achieved that. They were indeed very fair.

Lúthien knew that much suffering could have been prevented if only Fëanor had made a different choice. Her mother had been there when treacherous Melkor and his ally the spideress Ungoliant sapped the Two Trees. The Valar came too late to save them, and Yavanna could not make another pair of trees. Such a great work could not be done twice. But she could make the trees whole again with the Silmarils. Fëanor refused, though the Silmarils were half the Valar's creation anyway. He had stolen the light to hoard it as his own. And so the Oath was sworn, the Noldor were exiled and doomed, and the entire face of the world changed with Morgoth loose upon it.

Fëanor was a selfish fool, she thought. What would the world have become if only he had given up the cursed jewels, if that is even what they are? We may all fail and Morgoth may keep them forever, but no one shall ever know that secret!

Somehow, they must reclaim one of these stones and survive. They had passed through all manner of evils to look upon the face of Morgoth and to see the light of the Silmarils, and now they loathed the sight of them both. Lúthien doubted herself and her plan, and Beren had none and knew nothing of what she had conceived. She had refused to speak of the matter with him. She had only said she had a plan and Beren must not interfere no matter what may happen as a result. It worried him to no end, but Lúthien was set on her course.

Morgoth looked up and laughed sinisterly as Lúthien and Beren approached his throne. His servants stepped aside for her. They recognized only the form of the sorceress and feared her almost as much as they feared Morgoth himself. The Messenger of Thuringwethil was cruel, swift to anger at any slight, real or imagined, and knew much of the Master and all that occurred in Angband. She reported everything to Morgoth, for she was his eyes and ears. And Draugluin was also known for being bloodthirsty and loyal only to his master Sauron.

Beren sank on all fours before the throne in wolf-form. Morgoth over-looked him, he seemed as nothing. But he did not over-look Lúthien. No fangs or bat-like wings could fool him. He knew magic when he saw it, and he sensed a hidden power in Lúthien that was of the Maiar, which drew him like a moth to flame.

And who art thou that has so freely and so boldly come before my halls? Before Melkor of the Valar? Melkor the Maker? How camest thou in, for of a surety thou dost not belong here?

Morgoth spoke, though his lips did not move. He spoke in a soft, musical voice.

This surely was not what Lúthien had expected. She had feared that he would have a deep, gruff voice, and that his head would be covered with horns, but it was not so. Morgoth bent his eyes on her so that her breath nearly gave out. Lúthien felt as though his eyes were burning into hers, but she knew that if she looked into them, he could read her mind. She became so cold that she began to tremble.

Speak!

To hide her reluctance to meet his eyes, she bowed low.

"Master," Lúthien answered in the hissing voice of the sorceress, gathering all of her strength and will to answer. "It is I, your humble and obedient Messenger. I come bringing devastating news to the Dark Court. Tol-in-Gaurhoth has been recaptured by the Elves. Sauron has failed you. His slaves are slain or scattered, and the captives he held for your pleasure escaped."

Morgoth spoke aloud, unimpressed, "Your news is late, sorceress. Sauron is being hunted for even as we speak. Why are you so late in returning to me with such tidings?"

"I searched for survivors and for Sauron. I found only Draugluin. It seems that Sauron was cast out of his shell and is but a wandering spirit. He wishes to escape your wrath, the sniveling coward."

"Look at me," Morgoth commanded.

She had no choice but to obey. She had known her disguise would only get her so far. Her eyes flickered to his for but a moment. She felt a sharp pain at her temples, and her disguise suddenly melted away, and her cloak fell out of reach. She gasped, and Beren's heart stopped and terror seized him. The entire hall inhaled deeply at once in shock and amaze. Lúthien had made a dramatic transformation. She had changed from a repulsive hag into the fairest maiden they had ever seen. She gazed at the floor as the sight of her was absorbed. The silence was thunderous, and then there was a great clamor.

"An Elf! A rebel!" shouted Morgoth's evil vassals, and they also said less pretty words. Then many of them seized her and began to scorn her. They threw her about the crowds. Then they began grasping her clothing, pulling her to them and shouting in her face, pulling her down. She struggled wildly but they were hurting her and her cries were muffled.

"Do you know what we do to your people, She-Elf?" said a voice in Lúthien's ear. "Do you know what we do to maidens?"

Beren tried in vain to save her from the many hands and claws, but his attempts were useless. The crowd had become too large and too violent, and in his wolf-form he could do little to aid her, and not in Morgoth's presence. As long as he was over-looked, he may be able to save their lives.

Suddenly, a whip coiled itself about an arm that was raised to strike Lúthien. The man screamed in pain as the burning thongs scorched and ripped at his flesh. A second whip wrapped about the leg of another clutching Lúthien's hair. The Balrogs had erupted in orange and angry red flames and roared their displeasure. The hall trembled and became silent.

"Drop the girl!" Morgoth said from his throne. "This is entirely unnecessary. Perhaps you may all ravage her later, but I know naught of her yet, and I am certain that she can be put to a more proper use. She could be, in no doubt, invaluable to me. Indeed she may be more valuable than all your lives! Do not make me unmask myself in wrath and set the Balrogs upon you all! Drop her, I say!"

One of the Balrogs stepped forward and cracked his whip in the air. Sparks flew up and flames licked the sky as the Balrog growled. Then the court was abashed and afraid and reluctantly threw Lúthien back before Morgoth's throne. She was in great fear and lay where she was upon all fours, breathing heavily, her eyes held firmly upon the floor still.

There was a long silence, save Lúthien's labored breathing. Beren heard his own heart beating like thunder. He kept his eyes on Lúthien and was fighting the urge to cast off his disguise and run to her, though all might be in vain. But he thought that somehow, Lúthien spoke to him without moving her lips and without even glancing at him. She spoke quite plainly:

Trust me, Beren! Whatever happens, you must trust me for my own sake. Now wait! Be patient and be still!

Beren was in great doubt. What was Lúthien's plan that she had been unwilling to tell him of? There she was now before the throne of Morgoth, stripped of disguise and at his mercy. What would he do to her? Lúthien was before the Evil One, revealed in Hell, and yet she did not seek for help! She says to wait! Beren prayed silently where he sat and was ready to cast off his disguise, but he was too late.

"Hello, child," Morgoth spoke softly, so softly that she had to strain to hear, and he spoke with sickening sweetness. "Tell me your name."

She did not answer at once, a mistake. Morgoth stooped down before Lúthien and wrapped a hand around her throat swiftly. She gasped and was stricken dumb as his fingers made their way around her slender neck, for his touch was cold. Nothing could burn like this cold! Lúthien began to shiver, and her teeth chattered, and the strength that he possessed in his fingertips alone! She knew that he was being very careful not to crush the bones of her throat let alone bruise her horribly. He could easily snap her neck if he so desired.

"Rise in my presence! Bow before your lord!"

Lúthien wanted to say, Never! You are not my lord! But for the sake of her plan, for Beren's life and her own, she fought back the words. "I cannot!" she sputtered instead. "Please let me go!"

Beren slammed his face against the iron floor and wept secretly. He was stricken with dread and anger. Lúthien was in an agony of pain, and Morgoth scowled and raised her to her feet by her throat. He tried to force his eyes upon hers, to rape her mind, but Lúthien closed her eyes, refusing to look into his own. She already possessed the knowledge that it would be her undoing. Then Morgoth reached out with his other hand and touched her cheek and traced her lips with his fingers.

"Why, you are nothing more than a tender maiden," he said almost soothingly. "Surely you do not wish pain upon yourself, child?"

"I am no child," she answered.

"Who are you?"

"Please take your hands from my throat!" she said. "You are freezing my very heart!

"Who art thou that flittest about my halls like a bat!"

Lúthien choked on her words. Morgoth sneered and let her go. She fell again to the floor, coughing. Morgoth had not tried to strangle her in the least, but nonetheless, she needed to cough. Morgoth then waited patiently for her to recover, and the next time she looked up at him with fear, he locked eyes with her.

Morgoth's eyes suddenly changed. The pupils grew until his eyes seemed to be nothing but an endless, black void, and Lúthien could not break her eyes away.

"I shall ask one more time," Morgoth laughed. "Who are you?"

Lúthien fell to her hands and knees, gritting her teeth in mental anguish, trapped under Morgoth's gaze. Her mind was completely vulnerable. She tried to drive all thoughts from it, but the effort was too much. She suddenly grew cold and numb, and she also grew terribly weary, as though Morgoth had been relentlessly questioning her for hours and hours, and that he was trying to break into her mind. It was like glass scraping against glass. That was exactly what he was doing, trying to force his own consciousness into the tunnels and corners of her brain. She fought his gaze for a long while and a weight was put on her heart.

Her head throbbed, and her will slowly began to weaken. A mist came over her eyes, and she suddenly had the desire to tell Morgoth of her every secret, but Lúthien stared back into his eyes, as hard as it was to do so, fighting him, battling for her very soul. The mental anguish was unbearable, but she knew she must not let him discover Beren or learn from her where the Hidden Kingdom of Doriath was and its other secrets. She did not care for herself, but only for Beren and her people. She must protect them at all costs, she must fight.

This proved to be the most dangerous moment of the entire Quest and Lúthien almost fell, as did King Finrod. Morgoth sensed weakness. He caught an image of a bird, a nightingale, from Lúthien. Thinking that he had triumphed, he relaxed his attack. But then there came an explosion of images. Lúthien filled her head with the paintings her mother had made. They were images of Valinor and incomprehensible images of what may be. There were some beautiful and some terrible. There were some that were bizarre and confusing. The Dark Lord was caught off guard.

Morgoth suddenly broke his gaze, and his eyes rapidly returned to their natural state if that truly was their natural state. Lúthien crumpled to the floor, exhausted and shuddering. Pain swept her entire body that she had not been able to feel while under the Evil One's hypnotic power, and she was horrified and ashamed to realize that she longed for his gaze to take that pain from her.

"Impressive," Morgoth said. "You are not daunted by my eyes. Now I am even more curious to know who you are."

"My lord, I am Lúthien Princess of Doriath," she gave her name. "I would have answered sooner, only I was too in awe of you. Then I could not speak in your grasp, for it was too cold."

Then Morgoth's expression changed to that of surprise, for Lúthien had given her name most freely after fighting him for so long. He was impressed and interested. Why had she resisted him only to answer his question anyway? Was it to prove her power or to manipulate him somehow?

"Ah!" Morgoth must have been smiling behind his mask, and his tone revealed that he was pleased. "What an unexpected surprise! Lúthien Tinúviel, is it not? You are a long way from home, little bird."

A chill ran down her spine when Morgoth called her 'little bird'. She wondered how he could have suddenly come to such a name. Beren had always called her that with affection. Morgoth said it mockingly. Could it be that he had been able to reach briefly into her mind even as she had fought? What else had he managed to unveil from her as she was under his gaze?

"So you are a liar like all Elves and Men! Yet welcome, welcome, to my hall. I have a use for every thrall. What news may you give me of Thingol in his hole? What fresh folly is in his mind that cannot even keep his own offspring from straying here? Or does he not have better spies?"

She wavered and answered, "My father did not send me here nor does he know of it."

"It seems that you cannot fly from me now. This little bird has no wings!" he laughed again, but Lúthien remained calm. "I have often fancied of meeting you in person, Princess of the Sindar. Then I would have an essential advantage over two of my greatest enemies: King Thingol and Queen Melian the Maia. I have not forgotten her. Oh, no indeed. Of course not. Melian the Maia has waged war against me for ages long past, and it is of her that my thought is often drawn to. How is she, by the way? Does she know that you are here?"

"Perhaps."

"Perhaps? Is she here now?" Morgoth looked over both his shoulders and then laughed. "I assume not. And you have fled from your home to my halls of all places! I did not even have to send my servants out to seek you. You came to me! It was the last thing that I could have hoped for. Come now! What is your desire? For do you not know that there is no love here for your mother or father or your folk, nor need you hope for soft words and good cheer from me?"

There was a heavy moment of silence and Lúthien did not answer.

"You bear weapons," he frowned and turned to his servants. "Fetch them here!"

She surrendered them without a fight. Morgoth took the sickle dagger and studied it. As he held it, it began to smoke and melt away. Lúthien stared in horror.

"This little dagger, with all its charms, could never harm me," he said. "My power is too great."

"The dagger was for my protection," she answered.

"Do not play games with me."

Morgoth cast what was left of the dagger away. Only the hilt remained. Then he suddenly drew a long sword. It had a long reach, and he held the point of it at Lúthien's throat. She shut her eyes and was very still. Beren's whole body tensed and he stared with unblinking eyes.

"Lúthien Tinúviel, daughter of King Thingol and Melian the Maia, Princess of Doriath, fairest maiden upon this earth! Fairest among all my children," Morgoth said in a whisper. "I know what sort of horrors you must have faced to come here. It is quite a shame that one so fair should suffer so much."

"Are you going to kill me?" she tried to sound innocent and simple-minded.

"No. That is not your doom. That I know, but I can prevent the doom that hangs over your head, little bird."

He clutched her arm suddenly, and she cried out, for it was her wounded arm he held. Morgoth saw her twisted look of pain, and then he cast the sword away and took off the cloth and stroked her arm, whispering in his black tongue, and the wound healed before her eyes. She gasped.

"There now," Morgoth said. "It is delicious irony that you have come, Lúthien," he said. "I have sent small armies to seek you out and bring you here in chains yet here you are of your own free will. Or is it so? You came in disguise, but then you gave your name, knowing the peril of doing so! Does madness drive you, or is it a vain pursuit for glory? Perhaps you expect mercy from me?"

"I know better than to expect anything of Melkor the insatiable and the unpredictable," she answered boldly as her tongue mastered her fear. "I came because my father is a tyrant. I grew weary of his rules and being treated like a little child. I had hoped to serve Angband, center of the world. I killed the sorceress and took her form as proof of my power. I also defeated Sauron. He groveled at my feet for clemency, but I knew that you could better punish him than I. Allow me to take your incompetent servants' place! I could be of some use to you, no doubt?"

Her words were lies mixed with truth. She had never lied before in all her life, had not even understood the concept until Celegorm had exposed her to the notion with his deceits. The Eldar did not lie by nature, but considering her predicament, Lúthien knew that she would be forgiven.

Morgoth's eyes grew stern, "You seek great rewards for your boasts. You will be punished for the deeds of your kin and for disposing of my servants. Incompetent you have proven them to be, but even so, destroying my most powerful thralls is no favor to me. If you fight my own, then my house becomes divided, and you work against me. But you are what you are, and that shall not be forgotten. You are only half Elf, but the other half of you is not. You are a child of the gods, sweetling. You are the daughter of Melian, and I cannot deny she has power all of her own. It must be so with you. And here you shall remain, in joy or pain. Pain is the fitting doom for all your race. Or should I spare such slender limb and frail body from breaking torment?"

Lúthien instantaneously thought of the Balrogs with their flaming whips and shuddered. His eyes raked her body again, and the lust was plain to see. Her little hairs stood up, and Beren felt a sickening nausea in the pit of his stomach.

"I have long desired to gaze upon you in the flesh, Princess to judge whether you are the fairest or not. Word of your beauty has reached us even here in Angband, center of the world."

"And now that I stand before you at last, my lord, what then is your judgment?" she asked.

"Come closer. To me, little bird."

She hesitated, then took a few tentative steps forward, fearing any show of reluctance would be mistaken as defiance. Morgoth beckoned her closer still and suddenly reached out and pulled Lúthien toward him by the string of her girdle about her waist. She gasped and Beren crawled forward, hate boiling in him like a white-hot liquid. But Lúthien must have sensed his movement and shot him a negative glance.

Morgoth began to stroke her fine dark hair as he studied her closely. She was indeed the fairest child of Man or Elf. She was even lovelier than her mother. He was also puzzled that she bore a striking resemblance to Varda in her fleshy form, Queen of the Valar and wife to Manwë. He had once loved Varda in his young days, but she spurned him and wed his brother instead.

Morgoth had long puzzled over the mystery of Melian's heritage. She was one of the Valar's offspring, but he could never be sure whose. The Valar had countless children but did not proclaim them publicly as their own. It was not out of shame or callousness, but the Valar tried to show no favoritism or pride and no one laid claim upon another. Everyone was equal in Valinor and considered kin and children of Eru. And anyhow the Maiar seldom remained long with their parents, often entering the service of another or wandering the earth. Over the immeasurable years, it was easy to forget whose brood was whose, and it was not polite to demand the origin of any child.

Before Morgoth's fall and when he was still named Melkor, he had never taken special thought to the Maiar except as pawns to be bent to his will. He had seen Melian seldom, and she was always in the gardens of Lórien, so he had overlooked her and assumed at the time she was one of his daughters. She also studied under Nienna, and Morgoth could not believe that she had never borne children. Nienna walked alone, but that did not mean she was incapable of bearing fruit. He supposed that she and Ulmo coupled once in a while. Or they took other lovers to their beds. In that case it was impossible to know the truth. Melian and Nienna did have a brooding countenance in common.

He had spoken to Melian only once when he was recruiting Maiar to his ranks. The majority of the Maiar came from Aluë's forges, others from the war-like Tulkas, some from Oromë, a handful from the gloomy halls of Mandos. They came from all of Valinor, seeking power or hidden knowledge. They even came from Lórien. Morgoth approached Melian and promised power, wisdom, and pleasures she could never dream of. She saw right through him, unlike her companion Gwendling. She refused him outright. He cajoled and threatened to no avail. She vowed to expose him and fight him to the death if he ever threatened her or tried to deceive her again. The only other woman to have rebuffed him so was Varda herself. He should have realized it then.

Now he was certain that Lúthien was the granddaughter of the one she called Elbereth and named in her prayers often. He smiled with amusement at this new knowledge. Here was another advantage to taking this one as his prisoner! Not only could he bring King Thingol to his knees and gain the maiden herself as a prize, but it was also a way of poking the high and mighty Valar in the eye and defying his brother Manwë. She was Varda's granddaughter, which made him desire her all the more. Varda's features were plainly written upon her pretty face. If ever he had an equal, perhaps she was it. She was of the blood of the King and Queen of heaven, though she did not know it. By rights she deserved a throne beside them. If they would not claim her, he gladly would.

"I will give a respite to Lúthien the fair, a pretty toy for idle hours," he said at last. "In gardens many a flower like you the amorous gods have seen, honey-sweet to kiss. Then those flowers are cast aside and bruised. Here we seldom find such sweet amid our labors long and hard, and I have heard that such a flower as yourself shall never bloom again. In Elfinesse your beauty is revered, here it shall be worshiped. And who would not taste the honey-sweet lying to lips or crush with feet the soft cool tissue of such flowers, easing like the gods? Curse the gods!"

"I doubt I should dwell here in joy," Lúthien blurted out, and she immediately began to rue it.

He shrugged, concealing his thoughts, and ordered, "Take her away! I shall question her later, for now she has made me weary! Now you are my prisoner, Lúthien. As for your folk, I will find them and destroy them, but not before I present you to your noble mother and father as my slave!"

She was seized from all sides by many eager hands, but she would not be so easily defeated. She struggled and fell before Morgoth's feet. His servants did not dare come so close to him, so terrified were they. They could not bear the light of the Silmarils either. Morgoth's eyes flickered with anger.

"My lord," Lúthien prostrated herself in humble fashion. "You are wise to suspect me and have every right to punish me. But before you clasp me in chains, allow me to dance for you and allow me one last comfort!"

Morgoth laughed and replied, "You amuse me, child. Thralls do not often have the boldness to ask of me anything save death. Speak! What is your desire?"

"Everyone knows of my beauty, but I am also the greatest of dancers and I have the loveliest voice. Would you not desire to know the truth of these matters also? I would dance before you, my lord, so that I may lighten your cares."

The court and Morgoth himself was astonished at this. Indeed his eyes widened slowly with surprise, and he found no words to say for a moment.

"And what," he asked with wry amusement in his voice, "have I done to deserve such a pleasure?"

"My lord," Lúthien answered reluctantly, bowing her head. "It was simply an offer."

Morgoth pierced her with his intense gaze for a few moments. He had already made his decision, but he did not wish to appear too eager. He waited too long. Two men grabbed Lúthien by the hair. She let out a shrill cry. They prepared to clasp her in chains, and Beren was about to draw his sword, but Morgoth spoke out against his servants.

"Come now!" he said. "I did not say nay! If you wish to dance, then you may, and after we may judge your skill. It is true that you may never dance again afterwards. Allow the girl to go free for a while! After all," he added, sneering. "I am not a monster!"

"Thank you, my lord," Lúthien could not quite hide her joy and relief.

"Your eagerness is encouraging and unexpected, but you are weary. That is all too plain to see."

"Well, yes, my lord."

Morgoth took a goblet from one of his servants. "Drink this, and then perhaps you shall be revived enough to dance."

Lúthien took the goblet and looked at it suspiciously, reluctant to drink from it. She was not so taken to drink anything given to her by the Enemy. It could be poison for all that she knew, or drugs to make her lose her senses. It was a dark red liquid and steaming. She hoped it was not blood, for she had heard rumors that the Dark Court drank such and dined upon living flesh.

"What is it?" she asked.

"Nothing that you are used to, my dear," Morgoth snickered.

Lúthien had no choice. Morgoth watched her every move, and she could not refuse his hospitality. Once she had worked up the courage to taste it, she gulped it down quickly. She was pleased that it was not blood. It was revealed as some sort of wine. It was rather tasteless and scalding hot, but she immediately felt a burst of energy. She would certainly need all of her strength for her act.

The men let Lúthien go. She turned away, and when she did, Morgoth leered horribly. Beren gasped with alarm and fear. He crawled into the shadows where he would not be noticed, his eyes on Morgoth. His eyes were burning with malice now as he watched Lúthien. Beren started, but then he crouched down low and produced Lúthien's shadowy cloak in his jaws. It had fallen away from her when her disguise failed. He offered it to her, his eyes full of questions. When she ignored him, he whispered to her as she began stretching and the minstrels practiced.

"Tinúviel!" Beren hissed. "What are you doing?"

"Reeling Morgoth into his own trap," she whispered back.

He lowered his voice a little and said, "Was this the brilliant plan you would not tell me of before?"

"Yes."

"No wonder you did not tell me. If I had known of this, I would have left you standing outside the door!"

"I know you would have. But Morgoth cannot be slaughtered. He is an evil spirit, and he is too clever to be out-witted. Of course, not until now. Now he is about to be beguiled by his own malice, and he does not even know it!"

"But you do not understand what kind of danger you are in. I do not like the look in his eyes now. Unless you are going to allow yourself into the Evil One's arms tonight, you must allow me to fight!"

"Trust me, Beren. I know what I am doing. You must not interfere! You promised. You must have faith."

"Faith?" he scoffed. "That I never had. I knew when I saw you that you would be the death of me, but it was too sweet to pass up. You are an innocent, despite your years and knowledge. You say you have a plan, but what if it fails? You will suffer a fate worse than death! I beg you, you must not do this!"

Her gray eyes were sad, but she said, "Poor, Beren. You have no hope for yourself at all? I suppose mine must compensate for the both of us. You are the key to my doom as well, whatever that may be. But no one has confirmed that is will be death for the both of us. And if I suffer something more vile… I will accept it. I have no choice. A chance for happiness is better than no chance at all. This is our chance! If you have no faith in chance, fate, or even in heaven, then have faith in me."

He hesitated, but Lúthien did not wait for an answer. She snatched the cloak from his jaws and wrapped it about her. She took to the center of the floor and a heavy silence fell.

"I would like a tune that begins slowly," she ordered the minstrels. "Then it grows faster, shriller, more desperate. That shall be the climax. I could dance all night, if it should please, milord."

"You shall dance until I say so," Morgoth replied. "And they shall play the tune I want. Play!"

They obeyed, and Lúthien danced as she had never danced before. Their lives hung in the balance. She had practiced the movements until she could do them in her sleep so she would radiate self-confidence and embody perfection. She quickly adapted to the rhythm and found the beat. The instruments were strange, the song stranger still. She was more accustomed to Daeron's pipe and his complex and beautiful music, but he was not here, and she could not falter. Morgoth must see beauty and skill, not the effort behind it. Despite her doubts and fears, she amazed even herself, and she danced with wild abandonment.

Somehow, Lúthien moved noiselessly, and her cloak moved swiftly about her like a living thing. Her skirts rustling was the only sound she produced. Her movements were different as well. She was graceful as ever, and she interpreted the music with her body well, but no one failed to notice that they were also provocative and erotic, though she did so with such subtlety that it was hard to explain how it was so. This was a dance of seduction. She glided about the hall, her cloak and her raven hair flowing. She began to use her cloak as a prop and as she danced it swept across the eyes and faces of her audience. Then she would flash them a knowing smile, and one by one, they began to nod off and fall asleep. Since every eye was upon her, however, no one seemed to be aware of it.

Her gaze was mostly fixed upon Morgoth. He did not outwardly show it, but he took secret pleasure in his thoughts, and he watched her. Few dared to look him in the eye. She could, and she was bold as she was desirable. She also had power of her own. As a princess, she had been born to it. Through Thingol she would inherit huge sums of land, wealth, and numerous subjects. She could command armies if she chose. But she was also the daughter of Melian the Maia. In her blood was the power of the Children of Gods. She was of the same blood as he through his brother Manwë. How else could she have made it here? She had defeated his two most powerful servants. What else could she be capable of? He began to devise schemes as dark as his plans for the darkening of Valinor.

Beren was astonished. He was as enchanted with her now as he had been the first night that they met. His awe overcame his fear, and he was surprised to see Lúthien wielding such powers. Her name had been chosen well. But he forced himself to recall their danger. Several of Morgoth's servants were not swayed as easily as others. The Balrogs were wide awake, and Morgoth himself did not bat an eye.

When the last minstrel dozed off upon a shrill, desperate note that left the ear wanting resolution, Lúthien froze. She flashed a triumphant smile, and clapped her hands together and vanished, aided by her shadowy cloak. All of the torches suddenly went out, as if by a harsh wind. The hall was silent and plummeted into a sudden darkness. Then there was a great confusion and calamity. Beren was trodden over many times, and the Balrogs were letting out cries of wrath because even the flames of their manes had been quenched. Anyone not in such peril would have laughed at the sight of their anger. The Silmaril was the only light. Morgoth turned his head about, seeking her, but she dodged his gaze, slipping behind his colossal throne.

Lúthien's voice came down from the walls like rain and echoed off of the walls. Although Lúthien's voice was lovely, her voice had become terrible and commanding, harsh and frightening as she began an incantation.

"The little bird cannot fly? Well, perhaps not, but the little bird hath a voice more terrible than tooth or claw, sword or venom! I cast thee down from thy throne, foe of Eru and corrupter of the unsullied! Woe unto you, for thy time is cometh! Lasto beth lammen! Aye, Elbereth Gilthoniel!"

And with that, Lúthien began singing a song. Her voice was equal in beauty. It flowed smoothly throughout the mighty throne room. She sang an ancient song from the gardens of Lórien, a song of great power. It would cause anyone that heard it to fall into a deep sleep. It was perilous because it could cause the average person to sleep for years. It took skill to sing it correctly; not only note for note, but the tone and inflection were paramount. It took a special kind of voice, the voice of the Maiar. Lúthien was of that breed, but she was also of the Eldar so that her voice was enriched, unlike anything ever heard upon earth. This was why Melian had always cautioned its use and told her to keep it secret.

Everyone knew Lúthien had a beautiful voice that was pleasant to listen to. Few knew what it was truly capable of, not even she herself. Beren was helpless against it and dozed, though he fought sleep with all his might. The Balrogs had become fearsome when the lights were snuffed, but the song quickly quelled their wrath and they too dropped to sleep. The entire dark court was in slumber, all but one. Lúthien became silent.

Morgoth stood from his seat in anger and yawned, eyes heavy. He searched the chamber for her, knowing she was there. Lúthien pressed close to the throne, despairing. The song had not overcome him, and now, it had come to this. She was alone with Morgoth. She must snatch his crown and flee with Beren if she could.

"Reveal yourself, little sorceress!" he demanded. "No lullaby will save you from the mightiest of the Valar!"

She reached for his crown, and then he turned and spotted her. She began to dash away, but he was quicker. He seized her with lightning speed. She gasped as his fingers pressed ever tighter upon her windpipe. She could not cry out, only gasp. She reached for his crown again and found his mask instead and ripped it away.

He had once been fair, that much she could tell. His hair was once like threaded gold made of pure light. His long years in darkness had robbed it of its former glory. It was becoming more white than gold. His eyes were sunken and hollow, though still blue-gray and full of malice. He had a cruel mouth, his teeth was filed to points, his lips black, and his tongue long and carved to imitate a serpent's. A horrible scar was upon his face as though something had made an attempt to tear it off. Only sharp talons could have made that mark. The cuts were far too deep to be healed. They were red as though they burned.

"A thief are you? First, I shall clip off your wings," he rasped, "and I shall lock you away in my vaults! I should cut out your tongue and sew your mouth shut for this, you treacherous songbird! But then I would miss your tongue. I shall keep you in a cage of gilded silver and make you sing pretty little songs whenever I wish. And you shall dance when I command you to dance! Do not think I never knew of your mortal lover. You shall watch as I rip him apart piece by piece! And you shall wear the Silmaril you so desire, but it shall be all you wear!"

Lúthien grabbed up the folds of her cloak and desperately cast it over his face. His fingers dropped from her throat, but his claws raked her skin. He stumbled, fighting sleep, reaching for her. She stumbled, weak from exercising her enchantments so that he grabbed only air perfumed by her presence. Morgoth let out a strangled cry of anger, but he could fight sleep no longer.

And that was when Morgoth, the father of evil, was cast from his throne by the hand of Beren and Lúthien, and thus they wrought the greatest deed among Elves and Men, for the Iron Crown fell from his head and clattered to the floor.

For a moment Lúthien could not believe what she had just done. Blood dripped from her throat where his claws had touched, but she ignored it. Hopefully she would not have scars there. She watched Morgoth closely, doubting that he could possibly be asleep. She half-expected him to open his eyes and seize her again, this time to make good upon his threats. But he did not stir, save his eyes moved rapidly behind his lids. He was dreaming, of what she did not care to know.

She sat there for a while, gathering strength. Then she worked up the courage to creep around the slumbering Dark Lord and began to search for Beren, not daring to call out his name. Could she even wake him? She found him at last, for every moment seemed an age. She was terribly weak, drained by all her dancing and invoking the unpredictable power of the Maiar. She laid her hands upon Beren and drew enough strength not to swoon as she shook him. To her relief, he awoke.

"Tinúviel, are you alright?" he was alarmed at how pale and short of breath she was. "Now you have really outdone yourself! Is there any life left in you at all?"

She put a finger to his lips and pointed toward the Iron Crown. It lay inches from Morgoth's head upon the floor. Beren tore off his wolf-skin and gazed around him. He saw Morgoth lying upon the floor and the Iron Crown and the Silmarils that seemed to shine and twinkle at them invitingly. They both stared at it for a long while.

"You lulled him to sleep?" he would have laughed if they were anywhere else. He would never look upon Lúthien the same way again. She had cast Morgoth down from his throne, if only for a moment.

"Well, go get it!" Lúthien startled Beren to life.

Slowly, carefully, he stepped towards the Iron Crown and Morgoth's sleeping body. He reached out a warring hand and snatched the crown from the stone floor. He feared that Morgoth would suddenly awaken and seize the Iron Crown back and call for his guards. His mind was only playing a cruel joke upon him, for Morgoth remained quite still. He breathed a sigh of relief. Lúthien was leaning against the wall, breathing hard.

"Well, are you still alive?" Beren repeated.

"Never have I felt more alive in my life!" she answered cheerfully.

But even as she said this, she swooned. Beren had to catch her, and he gasped, for she was freezing cold. For a moment he was afraid that she was dead, but his warmth stirred her to consciousness. She was trembling and so drained that she could not rise to her feet. She was now as weak and as feeble as a child. Beren set his wolf-skin down and laid Lúthien upon it and wrapped her within the folds of it.

"You rest, Tinúviel. You have endured enough," he said tenderly. "In the end it was only your voice, and not the sword, that cast Morgoth from his throne."

Beren tried to lift the Iron Crown into his hand, and he realized how bloody heavy it was. No doubt that had been Morgoth's plan. Only he could bear its weight. Perhaps it was made of some heavier metal and only coated in iron. He would have to cut the jewels out, if it could be done.

Beren drew his dagger and began prying at the chosen Silmaril, but suddenly, his dagger broke into two! He swore and threw the pieces away.

"We could just take the crown," Lúthien said doubtfully.

Morgoth rolled over in his sleep, and they both abandoned the idea without speaking words.

"It is far too heavy anyway," Beren said.

He saw that Lúthien was watching Morgoth intently out of the corner of her eye. She was breathing heavily and clutched at the wolf-skin.

"Do you still have the knife, Angrist?" she asked him, tearing her eyes away. "The one that Celegorm told us was indestructible?"

"Yes, I have it, and it saved me when I was in a tight corner," Beren answered with a wry smile. "I never thought that I would say such a thing, but I owe much to Celegorm."

"Let us hope that he was not lying when he said that it could cleave through iron," she replied.

Beren stared at the Silmarils for a moment, and then he began to cut. After much sawing and cutting, the Silmaril slid out off the crown and into Beren's hand. He almost dropped it, for he had learned from the Elves that no mortal hand was allowed to touch the holy jewels, but there was no pain. Beren held it in his hand, a mortal, and the Silmaril suffered his touch!

"Well, Beren, you see?" Lúthien said quietly. "I told you that you were no ordinary man."

Beren did not reply to her words, for he was bent upon the Silmaril. He held it up high and his heart beat with triumph. Never had he hoped within dream that he would hold this thing aloft now, yet there it was, resting upon his grimy hands. Lúthien looked up as the light of the Silmaril spread and became so bright they feared they would become blind, but it did not hurt to look upon it; touching their upturned faces. Every stone, every crevice in the wall, and even the stones on the floor shone anew, drinking in the liquid light. The stars would be dim in comparison. Their hearts felt renewed; their spirits revived. The beauty of it was captivating, and Lúthien smiled and breathed a collective sigh of relief.

"I shall go beyond the oath and bring back all three Silmarils to King Thingol. Then he will not have the option of denying me your hand," Beren said suddenly. "The people shall demand it!"

Lúthien nodded, her smile broadening.

Beren tried to cut the next Silmaril from the Iron Crown, but suddenly, the end of Angrist's blade snapped off and went flying into the air. Beren and Lúthien followed it with their eyes, and they saw that it was flying towards Morgoth. Beren swore again and Lúthien gasped. The shard hit Morgoth's cheek, and it began to bleed hideously. Lúthien clutched Beren's arm so tightly when he stirred that he cried out in pain.

"He is about to wake!" she whispered in a panic. "Take the Silmaril we have and run! Is that not enough, Beren?"

"I do not want there to be any doubt, Tinúviel."

"Beren, please!" she wailed as Morgoth moaned again.

Beren clasped the Silmaril in his hand and scuttled away with Lúthien out of the throne room. He abandoned his wolf-skin, and Lúthien left behind her spell-woven cloak and only weapon, but all that they wished to do now was to escape the underground before all the hosts of Morgoth could take them captive and punish them for their theft. As Beren stood up and fled, the Iron Crown dropped to the ground and clattered away. They ran as though the very armies of the Devil were behind them, and indeed, they hoped that it was not so. The remaining Silmarils glimmered eerily, casting the illusion that they were blood red in the light of the torches, awaiting the day that they were to be rescued too.


	20. Chapter 20 The Red Maw

Twenty

The Red Maw

Lúthien and Beren ran back to the labyrinth in a panic flight. They were without disguise, Lúthien was terribly weakened, and their only weapon was Beren's sword. They both feared for their lives. They wanted to escape while they had the chance. As they crossed the bridge, it began to collapse behind them.

"Morgoth has awoken, and so has his wrath seven-fold!" Lúthien wailed.

"You sure got his attention!"

Beren stepped off the bridge. Lúthien followed after, barely able to keep pace with him, but then, the bridge below her feet broke asunder. She almost fell to her death, but Beren caught her by the hand and hauled her up onto solid ground, even though he almost fell along with her. Then they heard the roars and cries of beasts and monsters, and they saw that there were hosts of Men on the other side of the bridge.

Beren suddenly laughed and said, "Well, it looks like we all make mistakes, and the greater you are, the greater your mistakes! They are cut off from us!"

"And almost killed us both!"

As Lúthien said this, a few trolls threw down a large, stone slab that replaced the bridge. Lúthien clenched her jaw and sighed, and Beren's mouth gaped open.

"Run!" she said out of the corner of her mouth.

They ran through the tunnels blindly. They could not go the way they had come. They must find a faster way. Because they did not know where they were going, neither did their pursuers. It was good fortune that led them back out onto the surface of the earth. They stepped out from the gate of Angband. They had the Silmaril and that was all they needed. They had seen enough of Angband to last a lifetime. Lúthien knew that she would never forget the screams of the Elves in their torment. They rang in her ears even now. Neither would she be able to drive out Anglos and his transformation from her memory nor Morgoth's terrible face.

Lúthien was spent. She collapsed upon the ground, incapable of going any further. Beren stopped and beckoned to her. He still had some strength left, and he knew that they had not truly escaped yet. He had not realized until now that they probably may never outrun hosts of armies on foot.

"Come, Tinúviel," Beren said, taking her hand in order to lift her to her feet. "We cannot linger! Morgoth might send his armies in pursuit!"

"I-I cannot," she panted. "I have never been so exhausted in all my life!"

"Elves are never tired. Come on!"

Lúthien could not stand.

"All right then. You leave me no choice. I will have to carry you."

He raised her to her feet and into his arms but she squirmed from him.

"Where is the Silmaril? Do you still have it?"

Beren held it in his hand and they both gazed upon the divine jewel for a moment. They gaped at its beauty, for it shone brighter than starlight.

That was when Carchoroth awoke, and he recognized them immediately, but they did not realize he was there. In fact, they had almost forgotten about him until he snarled and sprang at them.

Beren pocketed the Silmaril and put himself before Lúthien as before. But Carchoroth cast him aside and snatched up Lúthien. He pulled her up to his face. He had lifted her clean off of the ground. She screamed, but she did not struggle. She knew it would be useless. Her strength had wholly left her, and Carchoroth had strength far greater than she knew. He had incalculable strength.

"Going somewhere, beautiful?" he said in her ear. "I have you."

"No you do not!" Lúthien cried and struggled then.

She squirmed about and found it all futile. Carchoroth was much too strong, and he pulled her head back by her hair.

"I can almost taste your blood," he whispered.

"Leave her alone!"

Beren tried to defend Lúthien, but the wolf struck him. He fell backwards as blindness and a loss of other senses overtook him. Lúthien screamed for him and Carchoroth showed her his fangs to signal for silence.

"Let me go!" she begged.

"Did you think that your little magics would keep me asleep forever! I am Carchoroth who sleeps not! Did you think that you could escape from Angband so easily?"

"Put me down!" she cried.

"You seemed so anxious to enter Angband moments ago," Carchoroth began shaking her violently. "Why so eager to leave it now? I do not see any scars or wounds on you at all!"

"The scars are upon my heart and they are deep," Lúthien answered.

Carchoroth cast a glance at Beren and said, "He should be cast into the Thrall Vaults at once! Ah, I see that you have seen them for yourself. The look in those bright eyes of yours has changed, little one! You saw the pits themselves, eh? So, have you tasted enough of Angband to last a lifetime? A few ages? Tell me what you saw. Did you learn the truth about the nature of Orcs? Tell me how they screamed and begged for mercy."

"PUT ME DOWN!" she bellowed.

"As you wish!"

He threw her onto the ground. He threw her with such force that the wind was knocked out of her, and dust flew up into the air in a cloud. Carchoroth stood over her, sneering as she coughed, gasped for air, and stared helplessly up at him. She reached for Beren who still had not recovered from the blow. She raised up her hand and tried to gather up all the magic she had left, but there simply was not enough to stall the wolf. Carchoroth laughed.

"No one escapes from Angband after they have had their first taste of it," he told her. "And I shall see to that."

Then he sang of torture and thralldom. Carchoroth licked his fangs. He was hungry for her blood.

"Morgoth might want you alive, but he will understand if I took a little something for my own. He will understand, for I am his favored pet."

"He will punish you greatly!"

"What is it that the people love about you so much, Lúthien? Is it that pretty face of yours?"

"No!"

Carchoroth took her firmly by the chin. Then he raised his claws and prepared to drag them down her face.

"No!" she screamed. "No, please! Please! Not my face! Not my face!"

"No," he said. "Who would dare defile such a pretty face?"

Without warning, he lunged at her throat. Morgoth had raked the skin of her throat as he fell, leaving parallel slashes that dripped blood. She let out a startled cry, fearing the bite of his fangs which were instantly venomous and like daggers, but he lapped at the wounds already made. She feared that if she struggled, she may cause him to rip through her arteries and tear open her throat. Then he began to draw one, long, slow, and terrible draught. Her vision became distorted so that all she could see was a red blur before her eyes, and then a great darkness. She gasped and trembled as he drained her of blood and vitality. She was too weak to move or cry out.

Suddenly Carchoroth began to sway on his feet as though drunk. His world was beginning to grow dark with hers. Her blood was not Elf-blood, he remembered. Hers was the blood of a Half-Maia. Too much would surely intoxicate him.

"No one harms Tinúviel, my love," said a voice, and Carchoroth dropped Lúthien in his surprise. "And doing so is payable by death, and I shall see to that."

Then Beren suddenly sprang in front of Lúthien. He held up the Silmaril. The light that shined forth from it almost blinded Carchoroth and stung at his eyes, and he was fearful of Beren, for the light of the Silmaril endured in him so that he shone like the sun and seemed more than a mortal man. Carchoroth backed away, shielding his eyes and snarling angrily. Lúthien reached up and held Beren's other hand.

"No, Beren!" she cried feebly, and she was ghastly pale. "Stand back! You cannot understand what Carchoroth is!"

"I die before you do."

Carchoroth snapped at Beren.

"Step away from me and my victim, mortal!" he commanded. "She is mine! Her blood is beautiful. It is like fire and sweeter than honey on my tongue. You shall not withhold from me such blood!"

"You will not touch my beloved! Take me instead!"

Fool! I can no longer stomach mortal blood! Yours is vile and bitter while her blood is liquid light! Now, unless you have the desire to die an agonizing death, you shall step out of the way and you may end your days as a thrall! I will cut you down and tear you limb from limb!"

"See here!" Beren announced. "This is the holy jewel that was wrought long ago by Fëanor using the light of Valinor. You take another step towards Tinúviel and I, and I shall allow the Silmaril to do its work. Now get ye gone, demon, lest the holy jewel destroy you."

"What? Another step?" Carchoroth let out a sinister laugh, and then his voice changed. "Are you threatening me now? Another step, you say? YOU MEAN, WHEN I PUT ONE FOOT IN FRONT OF THE OTHER LIKE THIS?"

He was no longer afraid of the light, and his pride was very great, and moreover, he had developed a taste for Lúthien's blood and was determined to have it. He opened his jaws and sprang a whole yard. Then he bit off Beren's hand to the wrist. Lúthien let out a scream.

"NOOOOOOO!"

Beren sank to the ground in a swoon of pain. Lúthien cradled him in her arms. The Silmaril suddenly did not matter to her at all.

"Please stop!" Lúthien begged. "Your master shall want him alive!"

"I shall deal with you in a moment," Carchoroth sneered at her.

He opened his jaws wider to finish Beren off, but then he felt an immense pain. The Silmaril that he had swallowed along with Beren's hand seemed to erupt into flame from within his throat to his stomach. The Silmarils were heavenly jewels so that anything evil that touched them they would burn. Carchoroth had not known that, or else he would have never swallowed it.

Now he let out an in-human and terrifying shriek of agony. The cry was so terrible that Lúthien screamed for her Elvish ears. She clapped a hand over them and still, the tortured cry rang in her ears and caused her ears to bleed. Never had he experienced so much pain. He let out another howl, just as startling and just as bone chilling. Then he ran off into the wastelands away from Angband, howling and howling towards the moon.

Lúthien shut her eyes tight and covered her ears until Carchoroth was no longer seen or heard. Then she held Beren to her. Tears flooded her eyes.

"Oh, no!" she sobbed. "Beren, please wake up."

She shook him, but he did not wake. His wound was swelling. Carchoroth had unleashed the poison in his fangs upon him, and Lúthien sucked at the wound with her lips and spat out the poison. Hopefully, she was not too late. Then she used the very last of her power to staunch the wound and stop the bleeding. The only thing she could do for him now was pray.

Lúthien did not know how long they had been lying there. They still stood under the shadow of the Black Gate. Lúthien was filled with despair and could not stay her tears. Surely, she thought, Beren would die. No mortal could receive such a wound and be spared. The two lovers lay there and Beren did not wake.

There was still poison in her mouth, and she wondered if she should swallow it so that the two of them might die together in peace. It was then that there came a great storm of thunder and lightning. The peaks of Thangorodrim shuddered and a single horn rang out. The host of Angband had been awakened. She knew that she could not carry Beren away from the hosts of Angband and she could not flee herself unless she suddenly sprouted wings. She had no choice but to sit before the gate, cradling Beren in her arms, awaiting Morgoth's hosts to come and find them together. She wrapped her arms about him and let hot tears fall from her eyes upon his face. She knew what they would do to him.

I am sorry, Beren, she stroked his face. We have failed. The Quest has ended to the ruin of us all. May death come easy upon you, and may you not suffer the fate of thralldom and disillusion. Why did I bother to heal you? But I shall beg for death before I become his prisoner. I will always love you. Farewell, Beren.

She kissed him, for she had lost all her hope. She heard thunder again and realized it was not thunder. What she heard was the drums and horns of Morgoth's hosts and the sounds of their armor and metal clinking together.

The host stopped at the gate. Each eye was fixed upon her. They had expected to see an army of Elves, but all they saw was a young Elvin-maid sitting beside a wounded mortal man.

"Is the maiden a Valier perhaps?" asked one of the captains. "Is she Elbereth herself?"

"Nay. She is merely a child. She has no power."

The captains rode forward, followed by an escort of Orcs. They stopped a few feet from Lúthien. She raised up Beren's sword in her hand, glad that Beren had attempted to make her a master of weaponry, but the sword was so heavy and she was so weak that the weight caused her to topple over and the captain halted and laughed.

"What a fierce shield-maiden!" he mocked.

The host laughed. Lúthien clutched at Beren.

"Throw down your weapon, highness," the captain said. "You do not have anything to fear. After all, you have only stolen one of Morgoth's most prized possessions! That is no great crime!"

His host rang with laughter, but Lúthien did not put down the sword. There was such grimness in her eyes that the captain stopped laughing and looked away.

"The Man is to be cast into the Vaults," he announced. "Morgoth shall kill him himself soon enough, on his own time. First, he is to be given to the care of the Balrogs. There is nothing sweeter than revenge!"

Five Orcs got down from their steeds and made towards Lúthien. They reached for Beren who stirred and groaned. She held fast to him. His stirring caused a frail hope to be lit within her. He was still alive, and as long as he was still alive, she still had a will to survive. Her will was stronger than her despair. She spit the poison that was in her mouth into the nearest Orc's eyes, blinding him.

"No!" she screamed. "Leave us alone!"

The Orcs backed away for a moment, fearful of some other trick.

"Clever, She-Elf. But come now," the captain said. "You are very pleasing. That is why Morgoth has requested for your company, but enough of jest! You must hand over the Silmaril."

"That I cannot do, even if I was willing to hand it over."

One of the men would have struck her with a whip but the captain stayed his hand and repeated, "Give us the Silmaril!"

"I do not have the Silmaril," Lúthien answered with perfect truth. "Carchoroth has swallowed it."

The host was stunned into dead silence, but the captain scowled.

"Not only are you thieves and rebels, but you are liars as well! But everything you know and what you have done will be forced from you somehow and you shall be punished in due time. Take the Man!"

They tore Beren from her arms. He called out for Lúthien in his slumber and she burst into tears. She fought, but the Orcs held her in place.

"What about the Elvin-woman?" they asked, and they ran their fingers through her hair.

"The Elvin-woman is to be brought to Morgoth's personal chambers! There is to be no bruising, or there shall be a few beheadings among us. Me in particular, so handle this prisoner with care!"

"No," Lúthien moaned. "Vengeance shall come upon you! It may not be by our hands, but you shall pay for all that you have done to us and shall do!"

The Orcs began to drag Lúthien across the threshold of the gate. But they were suddenly swept into the air by some winged beast. She did not see what it was, and the host was startled and angry. The creature disappeared into the air as quickly as it had come, but soon enough, their captain came falling from the sky and hit the ground. He lay there, dead. Then a large creature sprang in front of Lúthien from the air with a shriek. She gasped and fell to the ground with surprise and fear and shut her eyes. She heard the thing shriek once more and a few more men seemed to be dead now.

"Retreat!" some of the host cried. "Retreat!"

Lúthien felt a claw on her shoulder and opened her eyes. The creature unfolded its wings, and it had a wingspan of thirty fathoms and had terrible claws. But it was no Balrog, nor a dragon, nor any such evil thing. It was one of the eagles of Manwë, lords of the air.

Lúthien dropped her sword in surprise, and the eagle cocked its head at her, beckoning her to climb on. Another swooped down and snatched Beren up into his talons and rocketed up into the sky. Then Lúthien did not hesitate. She plucked up the sword and climbed up onto the eagle's back and clutched at his feathers. Then her eagle flew up from the earth, its great wings flapping in the air.

The hosts of Morgoth picked up their bows and fired their arrows, but their aim was wild, and the eagles, as great a target as they were, eluded them and flew ever higher into the air until they had flown high above the dark storm clouds, and they were also flapping their wings with such speed that it outmatched the winds of the storm and the arrows seemed to move slowly in the air. Lightning flashed about them, and the thunder rang in Lúthien's ears, but suddenly they rose above the angry, swirling clouds…

It became harder to breathe, but the sky was now a crystal clear blue. It was quiet and serene. The sun, which had been hidden by the darkness and the storms was suddenly in her eyes and warmed her cold skin. Tears of joy were in her eyes. She had doubted for a while that she would ever see the sun again. She vowed from that moment on that she would walk about by day rather than by night, as much as she loved the starlight.

Lúthien was so exhausted that she buried her face from the harsh wind and cold air in the bird's feathers and slept. A soft breeze was blowing upon her face and through her hair, which had come unbraided. When she awoke, she saw that they had lowered altitudes and passed through white clouds. As they passed through them, the air grew moist and chill, but Lúthien smiled when they did so. Flying was a very pleasant and calming experience. Below them lay the earth, much more friendly lands, and here and there, a creature or a figure would move along upon the grass. Angband was now far away.

Lúthien looked up at last, searching for Beren. There were five great eagles. Two of them were burden-bearers. The other three had distracted the host by carrying a few of them into the air and letting them fall to their deaths. She did not know any of these creatures and had never seen anything like them before.

For a while, she dared not to ask questions. She knew at least that eagles were ill-tempered and their talons were like spears and their beaks were as sharp as blades. Then she began to weep openly.

"Why do you weep, fair maiden?" her eagle asked her. "Are you frightened of heights? Would you prefer me to drop you again before the Gate of Angband and allow you to face those hosts?

"No!"

"Then what say you, Lúthien? You are safe."

"How do you know my name? I do not know you, so why did you save Beren and I?"

"I was sent to keep watch over you two."

"By whom? Did Manwë himself command you to do so?"

"Certainly not! The Valar do not give out orders so freely! I was informed of your plight by a good friend of mine. Have you ever heard of the Wolf-Hound of Valinor?"

"Huan?"

"So you do know him? Well, after he came into Doriath for some personal business, he sent for me. I have always been a friend of his, for he is a worthy creature, even if he is not a bird. He asked me to do him a favor on behalf of King Thingol. He asked me to be the guardian of two dear friends of his, since he has been recovering from battle-wounds. He and the King have been rather anxious and concerned about you and Beren. When Thingol heard that you escaped from Celegorm, he was afraid you would attempt the Quest. I began patrolling Angband and espied you at the gate. I did not expect for you to come back out, but you did. Huan was right when he told me that I did not know everything about all the creatures of Middle-Earth. Some surprise me still, and you hold me in awe!"

"And who are you?"

"My name is Thorondor, King of Eagles, and my people have been bitter enemies of Morgoth for years. Did you see Morgoth?"

"Yes," Lúthien whispered, and she shuddered at the memory.

"Did you see the scars on his face?" Thorondor asked, chuckling.

"Yes. How do you know about that?"

"It was I that gave him those scars! What an honor it was! Ha, ha! Never have I had such pleasure like it! You found yourself a worthy friend, Lúthien."

"You hold me grateful to the end of my days for saving us."

"Well, if you are so grateful, why do you weep now?"

"Did you not see Carchoroth and the deadly wound he gave to Beren?"

"Oh, yes. There is not much that we can do about that. But unless I am terribly mistaken, he shall suffer it and live."

"No," Lúthien sobbed. "He is dying. Even now his life is burning out. Not only is it a horrible wound and certainly agonizing, but it is poisoned! He is going to die, I know it."

"How can you be so sure, Lúthien?"

"No one can receive such a wound and live. I know that. I am not only the daughter of a Maia, but I am learned in healing. There is little chance for him. In fact, there is no chance at all."

"But there is always hope, and hope goes beyond chance. Besides, his arm is not swollen. That would be the result of poison, would it not?"

Lúthien nodded.

"There, you see? And there is little blood loss. Your handiwork I suppose?"

"I did all that I could."

"Then be comforted, Lúthien. At least you know now that you drew out the poison in time and saved him from bleeding to death."

"Even so, it does not decrease the chances of his death very much. I cannot control life and death. It comes all too easily for one of his kin. Only the Valar can save him now."

"Well, I shall say one thing: Do not underestimate Men! Besides, you look more far off than Beren himself! Are you ill? I fear for you!"

"There is no need."

"Well, I do not think either of you can go much further tonight anyway. You both need rest after facing Angband. We shall stop at the most convenient place available and let you sleep."

Lúthien did not say anything more. She was trembling from the cold, and she looked down upon the earth. The sun was near blinding her. She saw the Encircling Mountains. There, within the circle was the hill of Amon-Gwareth, and there she saw the White City. It was the fairest of all dwellings upon Middle-Earth, for Gondolin was comparable to the bright halls of Valinor. It shone bright in the sun so that its white walls exceeded all whiteness. She saw the smooth stairs and the great fountains.

Then Lúthien stayed her tears for a moment and gazed in wonder upon the city, and hope was sparked in her again. Thus it was that Lúthien looked upon Gondolin the Hidden Kingdom, and she alone among the Sindar and among most Men and even Elves upon Middle-Earth could say where the city lay.

Thorondor heard Lúthien gasp and said, "It is beautiful, is it not?"

"It is Gondolin! This is a great blessing! I have seen many wonders and had sorrow and joy, but never have I seen such beauty!" she answered.

"Yes. Fairest of all Elvin-craft I believe, and I help protect the skies about here from the Enemy. Yet I prefer living beauty. I am glad that I have saved the Eldar's most precious beauty: Lúthien Tinúviel."

"Thank you," Lúthien said and then called for Beren. "Beren! Beren! You must see this! Look!"

There was no answer. Beren was still in his swoon.

"Now, now! Do not start weeping again! I have never known a princess to weep constantly!"

Still she wept, and when at last the eagles set them side by side, she fell to her hands and knees and tore at her hair in anguish, for Beren was still in the darkness of Carchoroth's wound.

"Will he ever wake!" she cried. "Or will he die?"

"I wish we could help you, Lúthien," Thorondor told her. "We will pray for you. Call for us at need! You must sleep. Tomorrow we shall bear you to wherever you command, Lady."

Lúthien slept long, and Thorondor awoke her the next day.

"Is he awake yet?" she asked breathlessly.

"No, but we have brought food and we shall bear you away. Where shall we leave you?"

"Doriath," Lúthien blurted out without a thought. "I want to go back home to Doriath."

Thorondor nodded with understanding. Then the eagles flew into the air and brought them to Brethil.

"We shall leave you two now," Thorondor said. "And what is this about the Silmaril?"

"Telling such a tale would take all night even if I spoke briefly," Lúthien said wearily.

"Oh, how tempting! We eagles love tales, but I know all too well that you need your rest and repose."

"Thank you," Lúthien murmured to the eagle. "You saved both our lives."

Thorondor burst out laughing and answered, "Even if Morgoth had cast you two to the Balrogs, you would have cut yourselves out of your bonds, fought off all of Hell's armies, and ran to safety!"

"We would have tried at least that," Lúthien smiled.

"Farewell, Lúthien Tinúviel! If ever we meet again, allow me to hear your tale in full," he said.

"Yes, we will if we have the chance."

Thorondor flapped his wings and rose into the air and flew away leaving Lúthien alone to tend to Beren.

Beren remained in his swoon for many days, and Lúthien would not leave his side. With athelas leaves, she bathed his wound and would kiss him in his sleep. Each day, he only seemed to become worse. She prayed for his recovery. She knew that he was probably slipping from nightmare to nightmare, as Lúthien had with the Black Breath, or he could be in the wage of forgetfulness. If he woke, he may not recognize Lúthien at all, which greatly tormented her.

At last, Lúthien's hope began failing, and she sang mournfully by Beren's side, awaiting the moment that he took his last breath, but he awoke from a dream, and the first thing he did was call for her.

"Tinúviel! Ilúvatar Almighty, please do not let it be true! Do not let her be dead like my mother and father and my King!"

Lúthien sprang to her feet, so startled by Beren's sudden voice that she screamed. Then she wept with relief and joy and embraced him, and he her.

"I am here! I am here!" she cried.

"I cannot feel my hand."

This caused Lúthien to burst into fresh tears.

"May I be thrice cursed, for I had lost all hope that you would ever wake!" she said.

"Then may I be cursed too, for I had thought you were dead," Beren answered. "Where are we?"

"We are safe. Sh, Beren," she tried to calm him.. "Sh, sh."

"What happened? It is all such a blur!"

"We are safe."

"Tinúviel, the Silmaril..." Beren searched his pockets and strained his memory. "We were at the Black Gate. I heard you screaming, and then he came with his face unmasked. He grabbed you and... No, wait. That was a dream!"

Lúthien was shivering at the mention of Morgoth.

"I remember now! I was holding the Silmaril in my hand when Carchoroth took it. Then he... bit off my hand. I think Carchoroth swallowed the Silmaril!"

Beren sprang to his feet, but Lúthien forced him to lie back down again.

"Hush, Beren. It is true," she told him, "and Carchoroth is nowhere to be found. Not even the eagle scouts could discover him, for they delivered us from the hosts of Morgoth, and it is here, in the land of Brethil, that they bore us to. The Silmaril does not matter. We would have to search all of Beleriand to find him."

"Then we must!"

"Are you mad!"

"But without it, your father will not believe our story. The Silmaril is the bride-price-"

Lúthien kissed him to silence him, and it did for a moment, but when she pulled away, he staggered on.

"Thingol will never-"

Lúthien kissed him again and he at last yielded and did not speak.

"You are right, Beren. We must face him. Something like that is-"

He kissed her.

"Inevitable," Lúthien finished her sentence.

"Tinúviel?" Beren said as his kisses traveled along her cheek.

"Hm?" she said dreamily.

"Hush."

Lúthien nodded as he kissed her lips again, but then she wrenched free of him and wept.

"What? What is it? Losing one hand is not all that bad. Really. As long as I have you-"

"Beren, we failed! We had the Silmaril and we lost it! We went through Hell for nothing!"

"No, Tinúviel," Beren answered. "We both came out alive, and we humiliated the Evil One before his face and his Court. We did recapture a Silmaril, if for a brief while. We succeeded!"

"My Father will not allow us to marry unless you have the Silmaril."

"Nonetheless, we shall return to Menegroth and challenge your father. Once he has heard our tale, he will have no choice but to let us alone!"

"Once you have recovered your strength. You are mortal and the wound you bear horrifies me."

"It is better that one hand be thrown into the fires of Hell than your whole being, Beren said slyly. "Besides, I can learn to use my left hand as well as my right."

"You still need rest. We shall have to return to Menegroth without a Silmaril, but I will not let my Father kill you or deny you to take my hand. He would have to kill me too to prevent that!"

"Whatever happens, whatever happens, Tinúviel," Beren said, I want you to remember this: I know what I am doing!"


	21. Chapter 21 The Quest is Unfulfilled

months and Lúthien returned his affections for only a season after that, it had been over a year since they bound themselves in troth, though all the world had been against it and courtship could drag on like a slow dance. Courtship was expected to be long, but a year was considered the proper interval between engagement and marriage even among the Eldar that lived so long. They often wed young. For Beren and Lúthien, that single year had been full of hardship and heartbreak few could boast of and no courtship of any length matched it. The people agreed that their love was tempered and made stronger because of it and that they were an extraordinary couple.

There was an atmosphere of joy and romance throughout Menegroth. It approached being a holiday as the people began to hear the wondrous tale of Beren and Lúthien's deeds. Their beloved princess was safe and Beren was not to be slain. Sauron was gone and Morgoth had been foiled. Lovers young and old became inspired by the princess and the exiled lord of men. Suddenly every young male child wanted to sweep away his own princess upon a quest for treasure and adventure. The young girls began to sew maiden's cloaks of their owns to enchant their heart's desire. Even those that had condemned such a union between mortal and immortal turned up to hear the announcement of the wedding date.

The holiday was cut short as Mablung interrupted the celebrations. He came running up onto the pavilion as the council sat making their grand schemes for the royal weeding. He made an announcement of his own that altered the final doom of Lúthien and Beren forever.

"My fellow people!" he called out at the top of his lungs, waving his arms in the air. "I have come to warn you all of a terrible danger that has entered our forests! It is a horrible beast: A Warg that is possessed by a powerful spirit. He broke through the Girdle of Melian. I fear that this beast is Carchoroth out for revenge!"

"And how do you know this?" many of the Elves demanded, not happy at all by this sudden news and angered by the interruption.

"I have a witness," Mablung answered. "Come, Beleg."

Then a few Elves entered, leading Beleg Strongbow who was out of breath and walked with a slight limp. Lúthien took one of his arms, and Beren the other so that he could stand.

"Beleg?" Lúthien gasped. "What happened to you? It looks like you have been mauled!"

"By none other than this beast of evil," Beleg said.

"Listen to the Strongbow's words, my people," Mablung pronounced. "Heed his warning."

"My companions and I were returning from our search," Beleg began. "Then our hounds went wild, and our horses fled. Even my horse, Ulumuri, a very brave stallion, ran off. Then something came crashing through the trees. A large Warg slaughtered all of my companions with his bare hands, first lifting them off the ground and throwing them against tree trunks. One of my companions was thrown so hard that the tree he slammed into fell over, and his back was also very severely damaged so that he could not rise and fight. Carchoroth decapitated another with one swipe of his claws, and he cut down all the others."

"And why are you still alive and unhurt?" called out several skeptical voices.

Beleg narrowed his eyes at them and answered, "By pure luck. I did not have a sword, so the wolf did not come after me until last. By then, all my seven companions were dead. He turned on me, and I fell backwards in fear and began crawling away as fast as I could, but he grabbed me by the leg. His claws dug into me, injuring my leg as you see me now. But then the Warg howled in pain and grabbed at his belly. Then he ran off, crying out something like fire. This all happened in moments. For those of you who do not believe me, you may go yourself to the woods. You will find seven dead Elves lying there and perhaps, if you live long enough and are not ambushed by him, you will catch a glimpse of the Warg yourself, gorging himself upon the animals. But I would encourage you not to do so. He is not a pleasant sight."

Beren glanced at Lúthien. Her mouth was open, and her eyes were filled with terror. Then she shook her head with disbelief. If Carchoroth had really followed them to Doriath, then this meant that the quest for the Silmaril was not over yet and that their nightmare was still continuing.

Beren took Beleg aside and questioned him deeply, and then he returned to Lúthien.

"Tinúviel, something must be done about Carchoroth. I think I should finish what I started. With the Silmaril in his belly, he is even more powerful and more dangerous than ever."

"No! When will all of this stop? Hunting Carchoroth could take weeks! It could take months! Beren, it could take years to finally catch him!"

"I know that. I also know that it is dangerous too, but I think this shall all be over soon enough."

"Are we ever going to marry? You do not even have to hunt for Carchoroth! You could let my Father's hunters deal with him!"

"Oh, Tinúviel, do you not remember that I had no peer in hunting skills since I was a boy? I cannot stand idly by as your father's men risk their lives. We loosed the wolf upon the world. No doubt Carchoroth is after me. I can draw him out to his undoing."

"Beren, I have a bad feeling about it."

"Of course you do. That is human nature."

"I am not human, and no, I have a horrible feeling about it!"

"All right. If you feel so frightened, then I shall allow Mablung and Beleg to aid me in the hunt for Carchoroth. They have apologized to me many times about the misunderstanding we had when they first brought me to Menegroth."

Lúthien could say no more. She was tired of arguing with him, tired of the whole ordeal. She had had to be the stronger of them often enough. Now her strength and will was sapped. But Thingol, hearing their words, seized Beren with terrifying strength, his eyes aflame.

"You are determined to prove me wrong! You are going beyond your oath, risking all and not even for her any longer but for your pride! I have given you my permission to wed her, but you still intend to endanger your life once more! I will not have it!"

"I will cling to my oath, my lord," Beren answered. "To cut a Silmaril from the Iron Crown and bring it back here to Menegroth. I have only completed half of that, so I am not worthy of your daughter."

"Then I must come to make sure you do not get yourself killed and murder my daughter with you!"

"Father?" Lúthien said uncertainly. "What are you saying?"

"I will go on the hunt as well."

This was a great surprise to all who witnessed it. Thingol paid no attention to the glances and sputtering questions. He commanded preparations to be made for the hunt. Then suddenly there came a great baying.

Lúthien sprang to her feet, a wide smile upon her lips. "It is Huan."

It was indeed so, for Huan bounded toward them. Lúthien and Beren ran to meet him. He leapt and pounced on Lúthien. She embraced him and laughed as he licked her face and whimpered. Then he turned to Beren and stepped into a bow.

"Huan!" Beren said in his amaze. "Where have you been, old dog?"

"I am so glad to see you!" Lúthien cried.

Huan sniffed the air and began to snarl.

"Yes," Beren nodded. "Carchoroth is in the forests. You have been trying to find him?"

Huan nodded grimly, and his eyes had a cold gleam in them.

"It is decided," Beren said. "We are going on the hunt. And Huan is coming. I swear that hound can talk without speaking words, or at least to me. I suppose we have some sort of connection now that I am his master."

"Huan is going?"

"Yes. He believes that Carchoroth is the wolf he was destined to face long ago."

"But the prophecy says he will be killed!"

She glanced at Huan where he sat unmoving, as though he had been made from stone. She could see that he was as immovable as Beren was, even though he had always taken her side the times before. Instead she tried to argue something new.

"The only way I am going to allow the three of you to hunt Carchoroth is if I am allowed to come with you. If both the males in my life must risk themselves, I will too!"

"No, Tinúviel. You are still weak from our ordeals, and any enchantments that you would use will not affect Carchoroth for long. Your mother's magic was not enough to hold him."

"I may even be more powerful than my mother. She has told me so," Lúthien said, not boastfully, though she said it in hopes it would persuade him.

"Your most powerful magic put him to sleep, that is true. That was no small feat, but it only made him sleep for a short while. He was caught at unawares. Now he will know you and go for you first. You must understand that this is something I must do alone. Huan will aid me, as he aided you in your fight against Sauron to liberate me and take back the old Elf stronghold. Let me return the favor to your people."

Seeing the doubt in her eyes, Thingol was about to open his mouth, but Beren stopped him with an amused look. The King bowed his head and said nothing. They all remembered the last time he had tried to prevent his daughter from doing anything. Beren reached out to stroke her cheek with his phantom hand which prompted her to say, "What of you and your wound? It grieves me to say this, but you are not the man you used to be."

"Carchoroth and I have something to remedy. He took my hand and the Silmaril, but he is suffering pain unimaginable because of me. You have done more than your share in this quest. They shall say in later days that all that has gone before was your doing and your doing alone, and they may be right in saying so. Allow me some dignity, all the dignity left in this cripple that has failed so many times in his duty."

Lúthien bit her lip and nodded her consent reluctantly. Never before had she felt this foreboding, even when Beren was in the pits of Sauron or when they were about to face Morgoth.

"I cannot stop you," she said. "But I want you to take an antidote on the hunt in case you are bitten again and I shall suit you and my father for battle."

As night began to fall upon Doriath, so did it fall upon Lúthien. She silently arrayed first her father and then Beren for the hunt. She insisted upon leggings of chain mail and reached for mail of dwarf-make for his chest, but Beren took her hands in his and stopped her from putting it on him.

"I do not need all of this," he said. "I am not going to war! It will only weigh me down and I will burden my horse and slow the party down. We will be unable to pursue the wolf."

"It would be a comfort to me if you wore it, Beren," she answered. "Wear it for me."

Beren nodded and Lúthien slipped the armor onto him. He knew better than to argue with her, though he could not understand her fears. They had faced horrors worse than a stray wolf. Beren was confident that he would avenge his maimed arm by severing Carchoroth's head. He was prepared to meet Thingol and his hunters before the woods. He strode forward to take his leave, but Lúthien stopped him.

"Please, Beren," she said. "Take Iavas again as your steed. He is swift as a fierce wind. I doubt that speed is all that you need, but he may be of use to you on the hunt. You see? I am frightened for you!"

"I know, Tinúviel. You are always frightened for me," he replied with a smile, "but I will not need your horse. I have been provided with one already. It has been saddled and awaits me."

Lúthien stood in silence again. Beren did not know what to say to her, so he did not speak either. He called for Huan. The hound sat before him, a grim look in his eyes, and he did not wag his tail.

"You too, Huan?" Beren exclaimed. "Why are you both so upset?"

Huan did not reply, but Lúthien understood his mind very well. He knew that today would be his last. He knew now for certain that Carchoroth was the mightiest wolf on earth. He could do nothing to stop his doom from coming upon him at last, so he walked to Lúthien and allowed her to pat him and say good-bye.

"Take care of Beren, Huan," she whispered to him. "Today may be his last day also. I will miss you…"

She wept, knowing she would lose him. She hugged him and found it difficult to let him go. When at last she did he nodded defiantly and then turned to Beren and waited for him to start out. Beren took one last look at Lúthien, words failing, and then he let out the command and began walking towards the woods. Lúthien hesitated, and then she followed slowly and silently after him.

Beren found Thingol, Beleg, and Mablung waiting for him. They had with them a horse for Beren. Beleg and Mablung carried many arrows with them, and they too looked grim. They greeted Beren, but he greeted them without cheer. He was unnerved by Lúthien and Huan's manner. He simply waved a hand and climbed onto his horse. Huan stared towards the trees, sniffing the air. His eyes became fierce, and he snarled.

"Caught the Warg's scent already, eh, Huan?" Beren muttered. "Good. I want to get this over with."

"Beren," Mablung said, "do you realize that once Carchoroth sees you, he shall surely try to kill you?"

"I know that all too well."

"Yet he has come anyway!" Lúthien stepped out of the trees. "The fool craves a second brush with death."

"Tinúviel!" Beren jumped in the air with surprise.

"You did not say good-bye, Beren," she answered, not smiling. "I just wanted to say good-bye in case I do not have the chance later."

Beren sighed and gestured her to him.

"Followed me again, have you?" he asked, but he did not laugh. "Well, I will say good-bye. What else can I say?"

Lúthien suddenly burst into tears and cried into his shoulder. She knew that this could be the last time she saw him as well, and Beren could not say anything to stop her tears. And all the while Thingol watched them closely. He still did not have any warm feelings for Beren.

"Beren," Lúthien whispered. "I may as well tell you that I love you before you go."

Beren put his arms around her, caring not that Mablung, Beleg, Thingol, and Huan were watching.

"I love you too, little bird."

"Please be careful, Beren. I shall be waiting for you at the base of Hirilorn."

"I thought I was not returning."

"I guess we must always be hopeful. Beren?" Lúthien gripped his shoulder hard.

"What is it?"

"Would you try to come back in one piece this time? After all, the Silmaril and I are not at all worth your own life."

"The Silmaril, never. It is only a bit of stone and elvish-glass to me. It is only a symbol of our love. But you, little bird, you are worth much more than my life. I would die hundreds of times for you. You ought to know that by now."

Fresh tears ran down Lúthien's cheeks at those words. She pulled his lips to hers, kissing him tenderly. Huan smiled to himself, and reminded himself why he was about to face his doom. Beleg and Mablung were laughing softly, and Thingol rose in his stirrups with a frown on his face, but he did not speak out.

Lúthien did not let go of Beren for the longest time, but she saw the impatient look her father gave her. Then she let him go.

"Come back alive, Beren!"

"I will."

"May the hunt begin!" Thingol said loudly, snapping the reins of his horse and riding down the path into the trees.

"I shall see you again. I will come back with the Silmaril better than ever! I promise."

She nodded, allowing him to leave. He followed after the king and his hunters. Then Lúthien did not follow after him. She could not help him on the hunt, and she knew it. She bowed her head and then set off to Menegroth to join her mother. All the while, she muttered to herself.

"Well, I have heard that promise before!" she murmured sadly. "I will try to cling to my hope. But there must always come a time when even hope fails."

Carchoroth snuffed the air and let out a cry. The Silmaril that he had swallowed was beginning to burn in his stomach again and he had not found any other victims that day to relieve his pain. He cursed the Silmaril and whimpered. He ran for the river and sank his head in, gulping down the water. Then he came back up, sucking in air and licking his chops. For now, he was relieved of the pain of the holy jewel. That relief did not last long. The Silmaril had caused him more pain than he had ever felt in his life. It suddenly flared up again, causing his belly to swell and glow. He let out a howl of anger and pain.

Beren and all the others heard that awful howl and halted. Huan pricked up his ears and raised his nose into the air. Then he snarled and showed his teeth. He gestured to the hunters to follow him. He crept into the great undergrowth of the forest, moving slowly and silently upon the earth, bent upon his purpose and trying to stay downwind of the wolf so that it would not catch his scent or his companions'. He was anxious to finally see this wolf that would likely be the death of him. He did not feel fear, only a sense of being aware of all that surrounded him. If these were his last moments, he would savor everything, even pain.

But Carchoroth needed no aid from the wind to catch the scent of blood. He knew that someone was pursuing him. At least he would no longer be hungry. It never entered his mind that anyone could harm him, not truly, even in this weakened state. He hid himself and awaited the time in which he could ambush the people that had come into the woods thinking to kill him and make a meal of them instead. While he waited, he sharpened his iron claws and fangs upon the rocks, chuckling.

Huan paused and Beren halted his horse and studied the ground.

"Fresh wolf tracks," Beren announced in a low voice, sweeping aside a few leaves to discover prints in the ground. "I will give you three chances to guess what foul creature made them."

"Carchoroth is hiding," Mablung said. "Either he is waiting to spring at us all at unawares, or perhaps he is truly afraid for the first time in his wretched life, we cannot be sure."

"It shall be a wearying task if we wish to draw him out," Beleg said. "We have not much time to spare, and I assure you, Carchoroth will not be easy to draw out. He killed seven Elves in only a few moments."

"But each day we spend pathetically chasing the damned wolf around, more and more of our people shall be brutally murdered," Thingol spoke. "What if he decides to leave the forest and try his fangs upon Menegroth?"

"Could he enter it?"

Thingol snorted, "I appreciate your faith in our steel and the Queen's sorceries, but that beast carries a Silmaril in his belly. He managed to pass through the Girdle. Therefore, sorcery has no effect upon it."

"You are all too right, my lord," Beleg answered. "But I am saying: Carchoroth is said to be as cunning as a snake. We have no way of guessing his mind, and we have so few arrows to spare. So few. If arrows fail, I doubt swords will be of use either. We have no hope of defeating him if he comes so close."

"We will find him as soon as we can," Beren insisted. "Tinúviel is waiting for me. The longer we hunt for Carchoroth, the more she shall worry, and the more wearying it shall be for all of us. She may even come looking for us, if I know her at all, and put herself into peril. Besides, my good fellow, I am not the only one on Carchoroth's death-list. There is another on his mind. She was there with her enchantments and humiliated him. Now he may never return to his cursed homeland. His punishment would be only torment and death by his former master."

"Yes. My daughter," Thingol said suddenly. "She is in danger. But where has Huan got to?"

"What?"

"Huan is gone."

"That is impossible. He was standing at my side only a few moments ago. Where could he have gone?"

Beren searched for the hound, but he was nowhere to be seen. He sighed, but he did not dare to call out. He cursed and quickly drew his sword.

"Could this be the work of Carchoroth?" Mablung asked.

"Not likely," Beren replied. "He was not bred for stealth. I think Huan was just so anxious to find Carchoroth that he went after the Warg himself."

"And Carchoroth would have stricken us down where we stand," Beleg snickered. "The memory of his attack is still all too fresh in my mind. I must say that I am very much afraid."

"Even a mighty beast such as Carchoroth must drink," Beren said. "Let us seek out the river banks. Mayhaps we will find signs of him there, aye and Huan as well. Wherever the Wolf-hound is, the Wolf is sure to be there too."

They journeyed to the banks of Esgalduin. Sure enough, Beren discovered tracks that could not be more than a few hours old. He found older tracks as well. It confirmed his suspicions.

"He comes here often. I would not be surprised if he has made a den somewhere close by. He drinks even from the enchanted waters."

"How can that be?" Thingol demanded. "The river of Esgalduin is far more than just water droplets creeping over stones! It is sacred!"

"By all accounts the beast has been proven to be wild. Those who survive also say that he complains of fire in his bowels."

"That is because a Silmaril burns in his entrails," Beren laughed. "It upsets his stomach and my hand as well. I hope it has festered inside him."

"Evil cannot abide the jewels of Valinor. The Silmaril will eventually burn through his stomach," Mablung said. "Who knows how much longer the monster has to live?"

"If he keeps drinking from the river, that will be too long. By then, he shall have killed more! We have to drive him out of these woods or slaughter him now!"

At that same moment, they all heard snarling, and the unmistakable barking of Huan. Then they heard struggling.

"Huan!" Beren ran towards the sounds. Thingol and his two hunters followed after him on their horses, stopping in front of a large thicket. There were movements coming from beneath it and muffled snarls. Beleg bent back his bow.

"No!" Beren cried. "Do not fire any arrows! There is too great a chance that you will hit Huan instead of Carchoroth!"

The Elf nodded and lowered his bow.

There came a horrible growl from the thicket, and then a large, dark shape sprang out from the thorns at King Thingol. Thingol opened his mouth in surprise and drew his sword, but Carchoroth knocked him from his horse and the force knocked the sword from his hand. His eyes were aflame, venom smoked upon the Elf-King's fine doublet. He did not know what victim lay beneath him nor did he care. He eyed only the throat and lifted his iron claws for a deadly blow.

"NO!" Beren swung his blade and Carchoroth stepped back only just in time. Then Beren stepped before Thingol and held his sword with his left hand. "I will not lose another king!"

Carchoroth was the one that became surprised now. "You? It cannot possibly be you!" he snarled. He studied Beren up and down and sniffed the air. "But it is you for a certainty. It is your scent all right."

"Recognize me, do you?" Beren said grimly. "I thought that you forgot about your victims as soon as you got a bite of them."

"No. I remember all of my victims!" Carchoroth answered with a dry laugh. "I had thought that you were dead. If my bite alone does not cause death, my venom does. Perhaps I gave you a dry bite by mistake. Not to worry. I will simply have the pleasure of taking the rest of you to pieces!"

"What do you mean you thought that I was dead?" Beren demanded, almost tripping over Thingol as the king rose and Mablung and Beleg flanked him. "I thought that you came here to kill me. What is the use? You carry a Silmaril in your belly! Your master will hunt you and cut it from you!"

"Not if I prove myself useful still. I came here only to find the Elvin-woman that you tagged along beside, and to slaughter all of her people that I could."

"And why come for her?"

"Once you have tasted such blood, it leaves you coming back for more. Such blood might heal me from my weakened state. Besides, Morgoth will forgive my failure to capture the girl while she was at our doorstep when I retrieve her from her own! Morgoth made a mistake giving me the task of guarding his gates. I was born to hunt and to feed," Carchoroth said, sneering. "And since you have revealed the Grey-cloak, I may take his life as well."

Beren was hot with wrath, and he cried, "You will not live long enough to lay hands on her or my father!"

Carchoroth suddenly had a spasm of pain. The Silmaril was beginning to burn more than usual. Beren thought that he had seized his chance and raised his sword for a single stroke that would have severed the wolf's head from its body, but Carchoroth recovered too quickly. He charged into Beren, knocking him from the ground though his feet had been firmly planted. He opened his horrible mouth and bit at Beren's chest.

His fangs pierced through mail and leather and his flesh. The poisoned fangs reached even into his heart and lungs. Beren's immediate cry was cut short and even though he was grievously wounded, he brought the blade down. Carchoroth swiped his claws at it. The sword broke into two, and that blade had been of strong metal.

Mablung and Beleg began firing arrows. Two hit their mark, but they did little damage to Carchoroth. He merely pulled them out and threw them back at the two Elves. They were thrown so hard that they came whistling towards them as though they had been fired with a bow and not by bare hands. Beleg had to raise his shield to avoid losing an eye, and the second missed Mablung by mere inches.

Thingol thrust his spear at Carchoroth, who gave him a dark look and tried to spring at him again, but he was being stung by Mablung's and Beleg's arrows, and the Silmaril was burning even worse than before. Beren's blood could not quench it. He almost collapsed to the ground, but he was determined to finish his kill.

That was when Huan came struggling out from the thicket. There was such a fire of rage in his eyes that Thingol, Beleg, and Mablung stepped aside. He leaped full upon Carchoroth, the impact knocking him away from Beren. They rolled to the ground together, snarling, fighting. Thingol seized that chance to drag Beren away to the safety of the trees with them.

"Carchoroth bit even into your heart! How long will you last?" Beleg shouted back. "We must get him out of here immediately!"

"Give me the antidote and I shall do what I can," Thingol ordered. "We cannot get him out of here. We cannot risk losing time."

Beren, and even Mablung and Beleg were a little surprised that the king himself would now try to save Beren, even though he had once hated him so much. They gave him the healing tools and the antidote, and he set to work on Beren.

Carchoroth did not return in those horrible moments, and Mablung and Beleg had cast down their weapons and begun to weep. Then Thingol asked for bandages. As Mablung brought the king bandages, Huan suddenly ran towards a few trees despite his injury, tripping him. The hound's hair stood on end, his teeth were showing, and he was snarling. Mablung prepared his bow, and Thingol began to drag Beren further away from those trees. Carchoroth would have every opportunity to kill him now.

Carchoroth stepped before Huan. The Wolf-Hound stood tall and proud, his eyes piercing and grim. Carchoroth stood in much the same way, but he was grinning mockingly. He took a step back from Huan, sizing him up. He scratched his head, and then he laughed. Huan's glance became even more piercing, but Carchoroth laughed all the more and spoke to Huan in the Warg tongue.

"So, you are the great warrior of Valinor? You are the successor of Oromë upon Arda?"

Huan growled in answer.

"Oh, really? You would challenge me?"

Huan nodded firmly.

"Do you not know the prophecy? You know that I, Carchoroth, am the mightiest to walk the earth, and that I shall kill you?"

Huan whimpered.

"Ha!" Carchoroth scorned. "It is your destiny? I am your doom! You know that very soon, your blood will be stained upon the grass, yet you still stand here and challenge me? I knew it was my destiny to kill you, and I am to be the victor! Manwë of the Valar himself foretold this to you! Why do you still stay?"

Huan barked.

"For your friends? What a laugh!"

Huan snarled and bared his teeth.

"Another laugh! You say that you will face your destiny for your friends, and because you at least are noble and deserve no less than death because you followed your master into the path of rebellion?"

Huan nodded again and howled at the sky in challenge.

"You say that you will fight me now? Very well, but remember, Hound of Oromë, it is your funeral, not mine! But I will say that I am thrilled to fight you. I have always been looking for an equal."

Carchoroth spat and unexpectedly struck his claws at Huan with great force. The hound let out a yelp of pain as blood dripped from his new gashes. Mablung let loose his last arrow, and it went through Carchoroth's throat, but it had little effect on him. It only annoyed him.

"HUAN!" Beren cried. This caused him great pain. He let out another cry and grabbed at his wounds.

Fly, you fools! Huan barked at Mablung, Beleg, and Thingol. The least I can do for you, and myself, is to kill Carchoroth, or at least wound him. Then it would be easier for you to kill him! Go! Stay away from us! Take shelter! Take care of Beren! Do not let him die!

"Shut your mouth, mutt!" Carchoroth bellowed. "I cannot stand the noise! And anyway, I will get to your precious friends yet!"

Huan did not respond, nor did he say another word to Carchoroth again. So began the battle between the great hound of the heavens and Carchoroth, the hound bred by Morgoth himself. That battle was the greatest that has brewed between any two beasts. The ground trembled underneath their feet, and there was much blood and gnashing of teeth. Carchoroth cursed up great storms, but Huan's clear baying echoed from glen to glen.

Huan leapt at the Warg, gaping open his jaws so that he could bite. Carchoroth held his claws ready, but Huan bit at his hands. Carchoroth let out a roar of pain and rage, and he swiped at Huan. The hound ducked, expecting such a thing. Carchoroth's claws ripped into the trunk of an ancient tree. Sap oozed like silver blood, soaking Carchoroth's hand, but that was not the problem. Carchoroth's claws were deeply embedded into the wood of the trunk, and he was now stuck. This gave Huan an incredible advantage. Carchoroth could swipe only one hand at him while he struggled to release himself. At last he managed to rip his claws right through the trunk of that great tree, also leaving a single, iron claw in the bark as it crashed down to the ground. He fought fiercer than ever, and Huan was near helpless to defend himself. The two came rolling towards the hunters, snarling and biting at each other. Carchoroth began crying out that he was being consumed with fire. The Silmaril was burning and this time, he could not fetch water.

The two fighting beasts rolled right past the hunters. They stared, amazed and sick to the stomach at how much blood the ground was swallowing up. Beleg and Mablung, who had seen much battle and carnage, were turning yellow. Soon enough, they both looked away. Beren was falling in and out of consciousness, and his breathing became hard and painful. Thingol looked to him and shook his head.

"I am afraid that I can do no more for you, Beren," he said with melancholy. "Not even elvish hands can mend the damage that Carchoroth has done. He has near ripped your heart in two."

"I have always been lucky, I guess," Beren answered with a chuckle. "First I was spared of my father's fate, and then I survived the many years of wandering. I found Tinúviel, the greatest stroke of luck of all, and escaped death by the hand of the sorcerer Sauron and Morgoth himself. What I am afraid of now is that perhaps the Valar will not allow me any more luck."

Thingol stared at Beren, then he ordered, "Help me bear this man away from the battle. There is nothing we can do for Huan now, and if he cannot destroy Carchoroth, who can?"

Again Beren marveled at how Thingol's hate for him had lessened so. Mablung and Beleg aided the king in carrying Beren towards their horses. They could hear Carchoroth and Huan fighting even from there, and perhaps even the citizens in Doriath would have been able to hear the echoes of that battle on the wind if they listened. Thingol then ordered Mablung and Beleg to make a stretcher for their wounded. They laid Beren onto it. Thingol sat by Beren's side with his head bowed, but Beren did not care for the stretcher. He wanted to stand by Huan as he fought, and to try to help him, but Thingol told him that there was no hope of that.

"So you would let that monster kill him?" Beren demanded.

"It is impossible to help him, Beren!" Thingol said fiercely. "We cannot defy the Valar in such a way. It does not matter if we throw spears and fiery arrows at Carchoroth. It does not matter if we try to kill him. Either way: Huan is dead, Beren! It was his fate! Everyone has known so!"

"But I cannot let you abandon him! Not after all the help he gave your daughter and I. If it were not for him, I would be dead now, and Lúthien would be a captive in Nargothrond yet and forced to wed Celegorm the Foul."

Thingol sighed and then called to Mablung and Beleg. "You two, watch! Watch the battle and make sure that Carchoroth is dead once he has killed Huan!"

The two Elves bowed and rushed off with retrieved arrows. Beren was not satisfied, but at least someone would be there to help Huan.

"You could have let Carchoroth kill me, Beren, yet you did not. You tried to defend me and now look at you! I know that you have done such a thing for my daughter, Lúthien, but why would you sacrifice yourself for me? I wanted you dead, and I still have a pang of regret for not killing you when I had the chance, even though I had promised to my daughter I would not harm you. I sent you and my daughter to the strongholds of Morgoth and put you both in the most perilous dangers and snares imaginable. Why would you do such a thing for me? You even called me father."

"Because you, Thingol, are a great king, and a loving father to my Tinúviel. I only wish that I could have the time to get to know your good side!"

Thingol said with a strange tenderness that Beren had never had the privilege to hear before, "I always wanted a son. Of course, I have always loved Lúthien. She will always be my most cherished jewel; my wealth and treasure. She is the most beautiful and heavenly of all, but to have a son to teach and one day become my successor had always been one of my desires. Melian is barren of children. If you had been my son, you would have been a worthy Elvin-prince. Now I know more than ever that you love my daughter and are thrice worthy of her hand, but it seems that death is near you now. My hands are tied, and Lúthien awaits you even now anxiously. I do not know how she will cope with this, for I am afraid that you are dying."

Mablung and Beleg were watching the fight very reluctantly. Beleg was preparing to fire an arrow just to end it for them both, but Mablung seized his hand and ordered him not to. They had been battling for almost an hour now with unceasing growls and whimpers and howls. At last, Huan whimpered and fell to the ground, his fur soaked with his own blood. Carchoroth was clutching at his belly and letting out groans, but he managed a sneer at Huan's obvious defeat. He put his hand to the trunk of a tree, exhausted from the battle. He had forgotten that he had sap upon his palm. It stuck to the wood like glue.

Huan looked up suddenly when the Warg led out some malediction and tried to pull his hand away. Then the hound managed to stand. There was such a gleam in his eyes that Mablung and Beleg were almost convinced that he had gone mad. Carchoroth was now helpless and at his mercy. Huan limped towards the Warg, who was howling to the heavens with rage. He threatened Huan and cursed him, but Huan was not dead yet. He had the chance here before him to kill Carchoroth. He opened his jaws and began gnawing at the wolf.

Carchoroth freed himself and howled, the Silmaril was causing another fit. He ran for the waters, and Huan ran after him. Carchoroth must drink, and this was Huan's advantage. Carchoroth stooped to drink and Huan caught hold of his throat and tried to hold his head down below the waters.

"No!" Carchoroth cried, sputtering. "It was in the prophecy that I would kill you! I am the greatest and most powerful of all wolves! I am Morgoth's most prized servant! I cannot be killed so easily! I have been worshiped and feared for thousands of years! No one can destroy me! I am the jaws of thirst, the Red Maw! I am Carchoroth!"

But Huan was not at all daunted by Carchoroth's words. He clamped his jaws onto the Warg's neck firmly and Carchoroth could not free himself from the death grip. Carchoroth was drowned. The body of Carchoroth shrunk to normal wolf-size. His fangs shrank. His iron claws were no more. His hands became paws, and his feet became hind legs. The menace in his eyes left as a dark shadow rose from his body and dissolved into the earth.

Huan fell to the grass, heaving a sigh. His destiny was complete. He had one more opportunity to speak. Therefore, he spoke for the third and final time.

"Mablung!" he called in a hoarse whisper. "Beleg Strongbow!"

Mablung and Beleg could not believe their ears. "The hound speaks!"

"You must bring the king to me, and fetch my master, Beren. I have one last thing to say to him before I leave my body utterly. I need to say my last farewells. Now do as I say!"

Mablung and Beleg brought Beren and Thingol, still confused.

"Carchoroth is dead!" Huan announced. "The Red Maw is defeated! Now retrieve the Silmaril!"

Mablung cut open the belly of Carchoroth the Red Maw and held aloft the Silmaril. It was as pure and as beautiful as ever it had been. None of Carchoroth's black blood clung to it and defiled it, and it appeared to be unsullied. Radiant light poured out, brighter, more pure, lovelier then the stars shining in the cold and distant heavens. Mablung reverently carried the Silmaril over to Beren and knelt beside him. Beren lifted his face up and looked him in the eye. Taking a deep breath, Beren extended the Silmaril to Thingol without glancing upon it.

"This is my gift to you, O King Thingol, for the hand of your daughter, Lúthien the fair and princess of the Sindar," he said. "Now the Quest for the Silmaril is truly at an end. I have at last fulfilled my oath, and my doom is full-wrought."

"But I feel as though a share of my own blood is upon it. I cannot keep it," Thingol replied.

"I swore that I would bring back a Silmaril and give it unto you so that I could wed Tinúviel. You must keep it for my sake!"

Thingol tucked the Silmaril away in many wrappings. Then Huan, with his last ounce of strength, crawled to Beren's side. He spoke with a frail voice, but with pride and relief.

"I had to speak. I wish to say farewell to you, Beren. It is at last finished. I have at last followed the path of my destiny and faced the mightiest wolf that has or ever will be. Although I succeeded, I must return to my home: Valinor. You are the greatest Man or Elf that I will ever know, Beren and Lúthien Tinúviel is also the bravest Woman or Elvin-maid. Now that death has finally come to me, I will allow you to know this: I will see you again! This is not our last farewell!"

"What do you mean?" Beren asked.

But Beren never did get a clear answer. Huan closed his eyes and did not speak or move ever again. Beren laid his hand on the hound's head.

"Farewell, Huan, truest of friends."


	22. Chapter 22 The Parting Beyond Worlds

Twenty-Two

The Parting Beyond Worlds

Lúthien had sat against the trunk of Hirilorn for a long while, her head bowed low. Queen Melian was sitting beside her. She knew her daughter was at the brink of tears. She had been fighting them for a long while.

"He will come back with the Silmaril and all will be well. We are to be married," she often repeated to herself, but Melian was sure that she did not believe it at all.

They both knew that something dreadful had happened. Huan was surely dead, and they had no way of knowing if Thingol or Beren was safe and unharmed. Melian, being the wisest of her own kin, had nothing to say to her daughter. No words could comfort Lúthien, let alone stall her tears. She had begun twirling the ring of Barahir on her finger.

Even though it was at a time of night, there were no stars in the sky. The moon was in cloud, and even the wind seemed to have died. Everything was in silence. The mother and her daughter waited.

At last, the light of torches appeared through the mist. Lúthien saw her father and Mablung and Beleg. They were carrying two bodies. The first was the corpse of Huan, the second was the wounded and now dying Beren, and Lúthien moaned.

"Alas! This is just as I feared," she said bitterly to herself. Melian stood up, a grave look on her face, but Lúthien did not stand. Her eyes were cast to the ground, the tears flowing from her eyes like water flowing from a river. Lúthien could not find the strength to rise, so she remained sitting. She even let herself fall forward, face down in the grass, and she lay there without a sound. This pained Melian greatly.

"Come, Lúthien," she said as gently and soothingly as she could. "I am sure that Beren wishes to see you."

"What is the use?" she was strangely cold. "Why should I be the last thing he has to see? Why should I not let him go in peace? Why should I even glance at him when I know it will be the last I ever have of him? Why should I even have to hear his name? Why should I live and he die? Why did this happen? Why did the Valar decide to take him now of all times? Did we not pray hard enough that we would at last be married? Is this some horrible punishment for us both? Is it because of our love? Did the Valar choose to take him now after the Quest is at last ended as a cruel joke? Should we have even attempted the Quest? Would we have been able to marry then? Would we have been able to love each other then in the wilderness? Could we have lived with it? Why? What if? How? Why?"

"Such questions I cannot answer, Lúthien. I just know that Beren's last comfort before he dies would be to see you. After all, he is dying so that he could at last earn the right for your love."

"You lived among the Valar, did you not, mother? Do you understand their ways at all? Can you explain to me why they did this? Why must I live now? Why should Beren die? Will we truly see each other again?"

"Your questions: I cannot answer them," Melian repeated. "Although I am a Maia, we live by Ilúvatar's will, and we do not know for certain ourselves why Ilúvatar does things like this. But if you seek the answer, it shall be given to you in time. Listen! Beren calls for you now! Will you let him die longing for you?"

"Aye Elbereth!"

Melian took Lúthien by the arm and helped her to her feet. The maiden stumbled, but her mother again helped her. Then she pushed her forward gently.

"Go to Beren!" Lúthien almost stumbled for a second time, but she maintained her balance. Then she began walking slowly towards the hunters. She stopped in front of her father.

"What happened?"

"Lúthien..." Thingol trailed off.

"What happened?"

"We have retrieved the Silmaril. Beren was sorely wounded, and Huan of Valinor died killing Carchoroth," Mablung answered immediately.

"So the Warg is dead?"

"Yes. Carchoroth was the mightiest, but he walks this earth no more."

"Good," Lúthien said grimly. "Or else I would have killed him myself. How was Beren wounded?"

"Carchoroth bit him," Beleg told her as Thingol turned his back to her, for he had begun to weep. "His fangs went through his heart. We did all we could for him but..."

Lúthien had stopped listening. She was staring down upon Huan's body. She thought of all the times he had helped her and Beren when no one else would. She had been alone and friendless, and Huan had been there for her. She had set no spells or enchantments upon him, only the sound of her voice and her tears had persuaded him to aid her, and that was all. She stroked the hound and placed a silver collar about his neck. She had prepared it for him long ago.

Upon the collar were two names written in Quenya:

*Beren*

And

*Tinúviel*

Lúthien kissed the hound's muzzle, and then she stooped down and wrapped her arms around Beren, whose eyes were closed and lay quite still. He was mangled and bloody, but she cared not.

"Beren?" she called his name with sorrow. "C-can you hear me?"

"I would recognize your voice anywhere, Tinúviel," Beren answered, opening his eyes and managing a weak smile. "Tinúviel, I am glad you are here. I know how painful this must be for you."

"Painful for me?" she looked at his wounds and lost all hope. "I knew this would happen! I just knew I should have followed you!"

She burst into fresh tears.

"Please, Tinúviel, do not weep. Do not cry, Nightingale."

"Do not cry?"

"Show her the Silmaril."

Thingol handed the Silmaril to Mablung, and he handed it to her, but she did not look at it. Her eyes were locked on Beren's, and he hers.

"You are dying," Lúthien sobbed. "We never had the chance to marry."

"I am mortal. I would have wiltered and died soon enough."

"But if you die, I die with you!" Lúthien cried. "Do you not remember my words? Wherever you go, I will follow! Do not go where I cannot follow!

"No, my little bird. You are needed here, and I cannot bring you death. I would never bring you death even if you begged me."

A little breath escaped her, and loosening one of their joined hands, she raised it, brushing a butterfly-light touch across his cheek. "Beren," she said, but she could have said 'beloved', for the tone was that intimate. He found he could smile even as he wished to weep. Then he gasped, the anguish and the pain of death were upon him.

"No, Beren, please!" Lúthien said wildly. "Do not leave! You can fight it, if you hold on only a little longer! You could-"

"I cannot fight death."

"But Beren-"

She cut herself off as she sensed Beren take his last breath. He was saying farewell.

"Wait for me, Beren," she said, kissing him one last time. "Wait for me. You cannot leave me behind."

As soon as she had made her request and kissed him, Beren's spirit left his body, and he was dead.

Lúthien stared at him for a long while. The tears on her cheeks became cold as she watched the color blanch from his face. Her father put his hand on her shoulder, and at last she rose to her feet. She turned her back on her parents and Mablung and Beleg and walked towards Hirilorn with her arms folded across her breast. Then she stopped and held the Silmaril aloft in her hand. Her shoulders drooped.

As she held the Silmaril, she thought of all the blood that had been shed to recapture it. The blood of Huan of Valinor was stained upon it, the most loyal friend that she and Beren had ever had. The blood of Beren too was upon it, and the blood of Finrod, and the blood of all the faithful Elves that had followed Finrod and Beren to Sauron's tower. And now, her own blood was upon it, for she knew that her spirit was dead and gone forever now. Nothing could revive it.

Those were too many lives. There was too much blood upon the Silmaril. It no longer looked beautiful to her, nor was it a symbol of their love. It was not a symbol of holiness either. It was a symbol of evil now.

Suddenly, Lúthien let out an anguished scream that startled the others. She cast the Silmaril from her and fell on her knees, weeping openly. Her tears fell upon the earth, and flowers sprang into bloom. It seemed that Yavanna herself was trying to comfort her in her hour of need.

"Lúthien," Melian stepped towards her. Never had she known such helplessness. How could she comfort her? She herself was astonished that Beren was dead, even though she had foreseen it. When he returned to Doriath she had almost convinced herself that he had become too great to be cast down in this way. Perhaps she had been wrong and Lúthien and Beren would suffer no more. This was a rude awakening and she wished she had been wrong.

Her daughter refused comfort, even from her mother. There were times she had wanted nothing more. Her mother could calm her even when Thingol could not when she was a child. Melian always seemed to have answers to her questions and assuaged her fears and worries. She could find reason in everything. But there was no reason in this. There was no justice. And all she wanted at the moment was to be alone. Alone. It seemed so terrible but she was too ashamed to remain rooted to this spot beside Beren's corpse. The shell that had once been her lover. And the looks of compassion were too much. The words of comfort were well intentioned she knew but seemed as insults. She ran.

"Lúthien! Lúthien, come back! Please stop! Come back!" Thingol cried.

Melian knew that their pursuit was futile. She stopped her husband.

"Let her go," she said. "She must be allowed some time to mourn!"

"But what might she do in her grief?" Thingol bellowed. "If she could fly into Angband for Beren, what might she do now to oppose his death?"

"Let her alone!"

Thingol nodded at last and called to Mablung and Beleg.

"Watch the gates. Let her in if she comes. If not..." he turned away.

Lúthien's wails of agony and bitter weeping was heard throughout Doriath. Always she called for Beren. Thingol was heartbroken for his daughter, but no one dared to come near her yet. She was suffering a grief unmatched by any other, and her rage also was great and terrible to be seen. When she did return home several days later, she was weak and weeping even as the servants helped her inside. She came to the gates, her clothes torn so that she looked very rugged. Mablung and Beleg sprang from their posts.

"Lúthien, Lúthien," they cried, swallowing her into embrace.

She clung to them, weeping like a child.

"My lady, we have all been worried."

Lúthien did not say a word.

"Lúthien, please stop crying."

"Merciful Manwë!" Beleg gasped. "She is bleeding!"

"What did you do? Drag yourself through hot coils and broken glass?"

"Can she walk?"

"She will not."

"Hi!" Mablung shouted to the soldiers. "Fetch the Princess a blanket!"

Beleg gathered Lúthien into his arms.

"You are shivering!"

"Her lips are blue," Mablung murmured and felt her forehead. "She's taken ill! Fetch the healers at once!"

Beleg took off his cloak and wrapped her in it and kissed her, but she still trembled violently. The healers took her and found that Lúthien had fallen ill with a fever. Illness was almost unheard of among the Eldar, but they were not immune in cases of extreme emotional stress. The illness came from within.

Thingol and Melian burst in to see her.

"She is in emotional rapture," Laisie said. "If this goes on much longer, she may die of grief!"

"I will not let that be!" Thingol insisted.

"And could you console her?"

Thingol sat by Lúthien's bedside. He tried to give her water, but she spit it out. She was falling in and out of fever dreams. She moaned for Beren, and then she might suddenly scream. Thingol did not know what she might have seen in Angband. Lúthien had never told him, saying only what she had to and that what she had seen in the pits was too horrible. She was reliving her torment there, and she writhed in her sleep.

"For the love of Ilúvatar, heal her Melian!" Thingol commanded his queen.

"I cannot heal her griefs!"

"How can you watch our daughter suffer so? How can you let her slowly die before you?"

Then Melian wept, and no one had ever seen the Queen weep. She had never before shed a tear.

When Lúthien awoke, Laisie was tending to her.

"Are you chilled?" she asked.

Lúthien turned onto her side and said nothing.

"You are very ill."

Lúthien did nothing but stare at the chamber wall.

"You are not as alone as you think, Fairest One," Laisie said.

Laisie nursed her back to health, physical health at least, and cleaned her up as though she were a little Elvin-child again. So far, Lúthien had not spoken a word to anyone. The light in her eyes was fading, for the darkness had fallen upon her at last, as it had briefly the first time she came upon Beren in the pits of Sauron and thought him dead. Her eyes now were haunting and grim. Lúthien, in fact, did not display a single act of emotion until she found that the Elves had taken Beren's body and were building a funeral pyre for him. She saw them stack the wood and then place his body upon it. When they lit a torch, she suddenly let out a cry of rage and snatched it from them.

"No!" she cried. "Do not burn the body! You burn this body, and may you burn in Hell!"

Thingol and Melian were happy to hear Lúthien speak, even if all she did was utter curses. She had not spoken for so long, but she still remained grim and cold.

"Then do you want us to bury the body?" Thingol asked after many other questions, of which Lúthien made no response to.

"No."

"Should we make a funeral boat and cast it out to sea?"

"No."

"Should we raise a cairn over him as he did for his father?"

"No."

"What would Beren have wanted?"

"He would have probably wanted it to burn," Lúthien admitted.

"Then why not burn it?"

"Because I will not let you. Build him a tomb near Esgalduin and leave his body there, in one piece."

Melian and Thingol were surprised by the demand. Never before had a Man been laid to rest on the soil of the Elves. Thingol asked why she wanted this done, but Lúthien did not speak again.

Beren did earn his place," Melian told him. "None among Men or Elves has done such a great deed."

"Perhaps you are right," Thingol answered and sighed. "All right. Lay his body in the tomb."

Lúthien was sitting upon her bed, thinking, of course, about Beren. Her head was bowed, and she had set the ring of Finrod on its chain and was wearing it around her neck as she had done before. She did not fight tears any longer. They came all too easily for her during these days. They streamed down her cheeks. Each day passed by for her, and the pain seemed to redouble each moment.

Whenever she dreamed, she dreamed of him. Suddenly the room would become cold. She would hear a faint echo, lamenting off the walls. She looked up. She had distinctly heard Beren's voice, but he was gone. He had been killed by Carchoroth. But then she heard that same voice again, and her own was also heard, as if from a half-remembered dream. Lúthien heard voices from her child-hood, and she also guessed she heard moments in Beren's also.

The song that Beren had sang thundered off the walls, and it brought pain all the more to her heart.

"Farewell sweet earth and northern sky,

for ever blest, since here did lie

and here with lissome limbs did run

beneath the Moon, beneath the Sun,

Lúthien Tinúviel

more fair than mortal tongue can tell.

Though all to ruin fell the world

and were dissolved and backward hurled

unmade into the old abyss,

yet were its making good for this

the dusk the dawn, the earth, the sea

that Lúthien for a time should be."

The echoes soon became fainter and stopped. Lúthien had fallen on her knees, clutching the door handle so hard in anguish that her hands were torn.

"Beren?" she called hopefully. "Is that you?"

"I will wait for you, Lúthien. I shall wait for all eternity if I have to."

"Beren? Can you come back? Where are you? Have you come for me? Please tell me that is why you are here!"

"I will wait for you."

Lúthien felt a brush upon her cheek. It was ice cold, but she knew it was Beren's touch. When the cold left from her cheek, she called for Beren, but then the draft of cold air left the room.

"Wait, Beren!" she cried. "Stay with me!"

"I will always stay with you. I love you, and I will wait with you."

The dreams made Lúthien began to wonder if it were possible to communicate with Beren despite the fact that he was dead or to will herself to leave her body. She learned that there was a way to do so. She asked Melian about it, and the queen was very reluctant to answer. Lúthien pressed her mother until at last she yielded and answered her questions.

"The fate of the Eldar is this: The Eldar see themselves as two different parts, the Fëa and the Hroa. The two parts are not bound to each other, but without the Hroa, the Fëa is powerless, and with no spirit, the body is dead and will soon dissolve. The life span of the Eldar is by nature the same as that of the world. Thus the elvish spirit tend to "consume" the body, until all that is left of it is a vague shape and it is indeed indestructible. But the Fëa will leave the body. Then the spirit will be summoned to Mandos, and it may go there of its own free will. Most spirits do this, but those who have been influenced by Melkor and are corrupt often dread the punishment they will receive in Mandos and stay in Middle-earth, trying to take over some other body that already contains a spirit. Those who follow the summons may, if they wish, be incarnated in a newborn body, identical to the previous. The others stay in Mandos' Halls until the end of the world. All spirits must wait in Mandos' Halls for a time; how long depends on the individual. If the spirit has done evil in its previous life it must often wait longer. Sometimes it stays for good. There are few cases where an Elf has been reincarnated more than once. The reason for this is unknown. But Beren, you must remember, is not of the Eldar."

"But I am of the Eldar and Half-Maia. What is to become of me?"

"You are unique, my child," Melian answered. "I have often wondered if you would be allowed a certain fate of your own choosing."

"And what is the fate of Man?"

"Not even Manwë and Varda claim to know their fate."

"And is it not true that the Fëa can leave the Hroa at the will of the individual?"

"Yes."

"So I could travel to the very halls of Mandos?"

"Absolutely not!" Melian cried. "You could be cut off from Middle-Earth forever and become as good as dead yourself! This is a very perilous thing. Do you not understand this, Lúthien?"

"Beren and I were very good about taking risks, Mother."

Melian held up a hand to silence Lúthien, then she softened and kissed her daughter's brow.

"You are my daughter, Lúthien. I know that you loved Beren, and I know that your tale has not ended at all. I do not want to lose my only child. And your father would also be grieved if you were to be cut off from us forever. Do you no longer care for us?"

"I do care for you. But is that reason for me to linger? I have nothing left, Mother, but this mere hope of seeing Beren one last time. He has not left me, even in death. His echo is here."

"His spirit, you mean?"

Lúthien opened her mouth in surprise, and her mother smiled.

"I am a Maia, am I not? I have had many experiences with deceased spirits and apparitions, Lúthien. Sometimes when Men die they do not go beyond the Sundering Sea to their true fate. I am not sure if Beren is one of those wandering spirits, but if you sense him, it may well be."

"All the more reason to go to the Halls of Mandos. Daeron is gone. He plays his songs no more. Huan is dead. The sound of his voice shall be heard no more. Beren was murdered. He can hold me no more. Daeron and Huan were my friends. I shall never see them again. I did not have to lose my soon-to-be-husband as well. Ilúvatar took more than what was necessary."

"You must know that Beren was not alone when he said he loved you."

"I do, Mother," Lúthien answered. "But I cannot live with this darkness. I cannot live with Beren's memory only."

"Lúthien, you must be strong."

"I am tired of being strong, Mother," Lúthien sounded genuinely weary.

"You must not despair like this. Beren's kin was slaughtered, and still, he lived to see you."

"There is nothing left of my spirit in this shell of gloom and lament. If I were to die today, it would not be sudden or unexpected. Indeed, it would not even be untimely."

"Lúthien, you still have much to live for. You are immortal. You are most beloved of the Elves, and you are also my daughter."

"It is part of my doom, perhaps, to die, Mother; the same as Beren's."

"Your doom has not yet been appointed, Lúthien," Melian was frightened and desperate to keep her daughter. "You will live on and soon forget about Beren. I am sure you can find a husband among your own kin."

"You are not comforting me, Mother. I will never, no never forget Beren. I long for death because he is dead. He is dead. . . Yet I live on. Must I live out eternity while he is dead?"

"You would take your own life-"

"No. I do not have to. My will is lost, Mother. I have no tears left to shed, or I would have soon flooded all the world with my grief."

"If you do indeed die, Lúthien, know that a part of me shall die also."

"And so shall hope, Mother?

"What do you mean?"

"Beren and I set out on our quest in vain. Perhaps life itself is vain."

"Now, Lúthien, you are beginning to speak madness."

"Nay, Mother. It is only words of woe. Tell my Father that I love him. I know what I must do, and I cannot delay the moment any longer."

She did not notice the slow passing of twelve days, nor those who came also to grieve. She merely wandered, in dreams, through the days of her life with Beren, wondrous and all too short. Remembering their meeting, their declaration of love, of the things that had been deprived of them, their marriage, and their children. Thinking nothing of herself, but only of he who had not yet truly left her.

Lúthien was dying.

Speaking to no one, seeing nothing but bleak despair around her, and taking nothing, she fled the memories the Caves held and rode away. She rode to Esgalduin, the heart of Neldoreth. She dismounted her horse, and when he remained at her side, gnawing at the grass, she stroked him and removed the golden sash about his throat that showed her ownership of him. It was Iavas' only material possession, and he wanted it back. Saying farewell to him was hard, she could not imagine how difficult it would have been to say goodbye to those in Menegroth.

"You no longer have a Mistress," Lúthien told him. "Return to the stable boy, or roam as you will. You were my Father's gift to me, and you were for a time my only friend. Leave me here, and when you return to the Thousand Caves, they will know what has become of me. Farewell."

Here she had pledged to her love, here she had once dreamed of the day they would be together, and here she would remain till death took her. Laying herself on the hill, she awaited her passing.

When the sun rose the next day, the king and queen sought for her themselves. Mablung and Beleg followed after.

"She is nowhere in the Caves," Melian told Thingol. "Search for her somewhere else. Think: What is the dearest place to Lúthien? Would it be in the Caves, or perhaps on the hill of Esgalduin where she was born, and where she met Beren, and where Beren ended his Quest?"

"Then we must hurry to Esgalduin!"

The king and queen climbed up the hill and found Lúthien in Beren s tomb.

"Lúthien!" Thingol ran to her.

She turned her head and looked at him and tried to speak, it seemed. Thingol gathered her in his arms, and he looked into her eyes, but her eyes had changed. They were dead and cold, and Thingol wept.

Lúthien laid her head on his chest. "Ada," she said, and then she gasped, and she closed her eyes, a smile forming upon her lips.

"Lúthien? Lúthien?" Thingol shook her.

"Aye Elbereth!" Melian cried. "She is dead!"

"No! She cannot be dead! Lúthien?"

Lúthien could not answer, and Thingol let out an anguished cry and gave her to Melian.

"Bring her back, Melian!" he ordered. "Bring her back! If you have the power, bring her back!"

"I have no such power!" Melian answered.

"I command you as your husband and your king to bring her back! What is your power for if you cannot even save your own daughter?"

"She is dead, Thingol! I cannot save her. It is not my lot!" Melian sobbed. "I cannot save her! I cannot save her!"

Many Elves and Men mourned Lúthien's death. The king and queen were not willing to bury her body either. They laid her body beside Beren's, and amazingly, their bodies seemed to be untouched by time. The two seemed merely asleep rather than dead. Melian took this as an encouraging sign, but Thingol mourned bitterly over his daughter's body for many days. They say that even Celegorm and Curufin came secretly to bid farewell to Lúthien.

Celegorm was not welcomed warmly, and they remained in Doriath briefly and in secret so that they would not rouse the king into wrath. Mablung and Beleg stood on the parapet when a little Elvin-boy came running towards them.

"Mablung, my lord!"

"What is it, little Master?"

"There are two foreigners at the borders. They have begged for passage into Doriath."

"Ask the wardens who they are."

The boy rushed back, straining his little legs. His child's face was troubled.

"They have proclaimed that they are indeed Celegorm and Curufin, high princes of the Noldor. They came here seeking truth of the rumors that they have heard during these dark times."

"Why are they here?"

The boy looked even more distressed, but he said slowly, "They are here. . .to see the Princess."

Mablung bowed his head, and the boy burst into tears.

"Now you can go home," Mablung said. "Go on!"

He gestured to Beleg and slung his quiver over his shoulder. They stood upon the parapet and looked down to see the princes. They were not clothed in their usual array of mail. They wore plain tunics, and they seemed unarmed. They had cast away their proud garments for what reason Mablung could not guess nor did he care.

"What do you want?" he asked with suspicion and disdain. "Why do you come here to trouble our kingdom when all the realm of Doriath is in mourning?"

"We seek truth," Curufin answered. "We have been terribly vexed by the tidings we have heard."

"So you undertook this journey to Doriath when you of all people are most unwelcome? And for what purpose? To knock on the door and beg for news?"

The brothers were silent, and then Celegorm spoke in a frail voice.

"Lúthien," he said. "I come seeking Lúthien."

"Seek not in this world, my friend," Mablung answered curtly.

But Celegorm did not understand the meaning beyond the words and pressed further, "I must see her. I must know."

"What is there to know?"

"We are losing patience!" Curufin burst.

Celegorm exerted all his power and said, "Please. Please have pity on us."

"For what?" Mablung demanded. "For what has victimized you? Should we give you pity for breaking your oath to your king and for stealing another king's daughter? Nay, I think not. You have made yourselves enemies of your own people. Should we pity you that you have only received part of the Valar's punishment?"

"Have you no compassion for my grievance?" Celegorm demanded. "Let me see her! That is all I ask! It is only my brother and I and a few servants."

Messengers were sent into Menegroth on their behalf. It was Melian the queen that received them and went to answer. Thingol was in no state to govern, and Melian could barely take on her duties herself. She saw the brothers and stayed Mablung from making a harsh rejection. They would not see Menegroth and would be blindfolded while passing through the Girdle so no secrets would be given away. With a silent command, Mablung and Beleg backed off from the parapet and stowed away, speaking of the brothers with bitterness.

Melian stood upon the parapet now, and she looked both terrible and beautiful. She stared at Celegorm with cold fury, but then she softened.

"Do you truly want what you ask of us?" she asked. "Do you want to know the truth?"

"Yes!" he all but hissed the word.

"You say that so quickly. But do you? Which answer would be worse for you, Celegorm? To know that Beren has wed her and that they live happily or to know that Lúthien may be suffering now?"

Celegorm paused, then said, "I-I do not know."

Melian turned. "Open the gates and lead them to my daughter!"

"Thank you for your benevolence, lady..."

She had vanished, and a servant came and led them to Neldoreth. He spoke not a word to them and was careful not to look at them. They led them to the tombs and stopped before the door.

"Where is she?" Celegorm demanded. "Where is she?"

"She is in here. Don't get any bright ideas about stowing away with her body," he answered darkly.

Celegorm went through the door. The incense of flowers hovered in the air, and there was Lúthien upon the altar, a silk white cloth drawn over her. Elanor and niphredil were all about her. She was not alone. Beside her was Beren's body, also covered and anointed.

The queen sat upon a stone bench.

"Welcome to Beren and Lúthien's resting place," Melian said. "You came to see her. I have allowed you this much. You shall be allowed an hour, but no longer."

"Is she..." Celegorm rested his hand upon the altar. "Dead?"

"I do not know what you mean by that."

Celegorm was staring at Lúthien, and the servant stepped forward and placed a flower upon the altar with the others as tribute. He was silently weeping.

"But how did this happen?" Celegorm asked.

"When Beren her lover was killed by Carchoroth, she pined for him."

Celegorm cast a glance at Beren's carcass and said bitterly, "Good. He did this to her."

The servant, who had said nothing, suddenly lost control. "Hold your tongue!" he shouted. "Beren was the greatest among Men or Elves!"

He stormed away, and Celegorm was taken aback. It was known that the Sindar disliked Men and most had muttered under their breath that Beren was to blame for Lúthien's suffering before the lovers had returned to Doriath from Angband. Now it seemed they had come to see him in a new light. He was a damnable hero here now as he was in Nargothrond.

Celegorm pulled back the white veil over Lúthien's face and strained to hear breathing, a heartbeat, any flutter of life, but there was none.

Lúthien Tinúviel, most beloved upon Middle-Earth was dead.

And yet she might have lived and been my princess, my bride, my beloved for all time.

Curufin watched his brother with growing alarm. He had had little feelings for Lúthien, but Celegorm had. Celegorm took a starflower in his hands and suddenly tore it to pieces. He put a hand to his mouth. He was weeping, and Curufin did not dare try to comfort him. He knew his brother would only push him away. He left him alone with her, and Celegorm held her cold hand for a long while. Then Queen Melian entered with Curufin.

"Prince Celegorm," she said. "Thingol is in anguish. He must not be separated from his daughter for very long and I fear what he may do if he knows that you are here."

"Allow me one moment, lady."

He leaned down and kissed Lúthien's mouth and drew the veil over her face again.

"I never loved as I loved you," he whispered to her.

Melian saw the tears in his eyes and said as he was about to leave, "Does the truth satisfy you? Have you what you came for? You have been given the truth."

Celegorm did not reply.

"The sooner you leave, the better will it please me."

Celegorm turned to leave but Curufin stopped him. He turned boldly to Melian and asked in a sardonic voice, "Your highness, I am so sorry for your loss. To think that they died this way. Beren slain by a wolf and Lúthien heartbroken. The wolf is dead is it not?"

"Carchoroth is slain," Melian's eyes narrowed.

"That is a comfort, I suppose. And could you be so kind as to inform us what became of our father's Silmaril?"

She paused, her eyes became as stone and a shadow passed over her face. She became frightened and angry.

"The Silmaril need not concern you," she struggled to restrain herself. "All you need know is that Beren and Lúthien succeeded in their quest but paid with their lives. The Silmaril was bought with a high price. That price is still being paid and taxing our realm. Must you tax us further?

"It was bought but not from us, the rightful owners. What has become of the Silmaril? Did you lock it in your treasure vault or does Thingol wear it now?"

"I regret allowing you here now. Compassion moved me to do it and foolishness perhaps. I must be going mad with grief as my daughter did and as my husband is now. How dare you mention the cursed jewel within the walls of Beren's and my daughter's tomb? Were it not for it, they would be alive!"

"And so they will rot and become fodder for worms and flies. What do I care? What became of the Silmaril?" Curufin repeated relentlessly.

"Curufin, now is not the time!" Celegorm thundered, but he would not be stopped.

"You know that we alone have a claim to it. If anything you should blame Thingol for sending the man to burgle what was never his!"

"Your hour is up! I must ask that you leave Doriath for good! You are not welcome here."

"We shall be going," Celegorm spoke up, gripping his brother's arm. "But let it be known that you had this chance to return the Silmaril to us. We will give your another chance when you have come to your senses. Enough blood has been shed on account of this particular Silmaril. Do not force our hands in this matter. I assure you the next time that you refuse, the Sons of Fëanor must act for the sake of our oath."

"Oaths as binding and deadly as yours should never have been taken so lightly. Tell me, Celegorm: If you had come upon Beren and Lúthien with the Silmaril, would you have slain them both? Neither would have ever surrendered it to you and they would have gladly sacrificed themselves for each other. For I have heard of Curufin's attempt upon my daughter," she gave him a piercing glance. "And for that I will never forgive him. But what of you, Celegorm, you who claims to have loved her?"

He cast one last glance at Lúthien and hesitated. In the end he did not answer. He led his brother away. Melian felt relief once she knew they had passed out of sight of Doriath. The brothers had left Doriath in peace this time. But their threat lingered in her mind and she was more troubled than ever. She had lost her daughter and had nothing but a jewel that neither she nor Thingol could bring themselves to cast away. Lúthien and Beren had died for it. It would be an insult to them not to keep it as their burden. But she knew a seed had been sewn here. The Sons of Fëanor would never rest. With Lúthien gone Thingol had become a pitiful thing, and Melian wondered how much longer their realm could bear this storm.


	23. Chapter 23 The Halls of Mandos

The Halls of Mandos

At the very moment life fled her veins; a smile at last crossed Lúthien's face. She could see the strong features of her love as she died, waiting, holding out a hand for her. Reaching out her arms, she cried out to him, full of joy.

"Beren! Beren!"

But he vanished. It was as though she had been dreaming. She felt as though she had been falling through a bottomless hole for eons. She expected to land upon solid ground and shatter, but nothing happened. She opened her eyes, expecting to find herself back in the gardens where she had been standing before she fell and lost all her senses. She was greatly astonished to see that this was no longer so. She seemed to be floating now, and her surroundings began to materialize about her. It took her a moment to collect her thoughts. She had somehow found herself within gloomy halls of hazy gray. The place did not have an aura of either good or evil. The hall seemed to stretch on forever and had countless doors upon either side, closed, in some cases barred shut. There were also benches of stone upon which sat Elves in robes of gray. They appeared to be neither happy nor sad but deep in trance. No one greeted her or noted her presence.

"Hello? Can anyone tell me what has happened?" she asked aloud.

"They cannot hear you, child."

She turned to the voice and found herself gazing upon a Maia. Part of her recognized her own ilk. The Maia was robed in white and had silver hair, but Lúthien could not tell if the Maia was male or female. Perhaps the Maia had not chosen a gender. But the Maia confirmed her fears.

"These are the Halls of Mandos. You have passed from your life in Arda, but do not fear. Upon judgment you may be reborn anew or remain in Valinor. The children here are reviewing their lives to prepare for judgment. Mandos will give you an allotted amount of time to review your own life and prepare your case."

Lúthien was not listening. There was a terrible realization that she was dead. What would it mean to her people? To her mother and father? And so she was in Valinor, but where was Beren? She could have sworn she saw him! Had he truly gone forever beyond the Sundering Seas? Was there no chance that she would ever see him again?

She began to search the faces of the dead, continuing down the hall, but they were all of the Eldar. There were no men or women.

"Where are the Men?" she asked.

"Mortals?" the Maia was confused.

"Yes, mortals! Where is Beren?" she demanded.

The Maia looked unsettled, and even the dead seemed to come out of their stupors to listen to the commotion.

"Child, mortals do not pass onto the Blessed Realm. They have their own fate which none can know. But it is known that wherever he has gone, you cannot follow. You are also a strange case, for you are a child of Eldar and Ainur. Mandos must decide what is to be done with you. Surely your fate will be a pleasant one, if that is any comfort to you."

"As the daughter of Melian, I demand to go beyond the Sundering Seas to find Beren."

"You dare to make demands?" boomed the voice of Mandos, so terrible the pillars of the hall shook and the dead trembled.

"Yes!" she replied boldly. "For there is no justice beyond death if this must be! Reveal yourself and explain why Beren is denied any reward for his deeds and why we are sundered at all in life or death!"

To her surprise, the halls of Mandos melted away and she stood within a council chamber full of light, and out of the light came many shapes. They were the Valar, and they could take any form they wished. They seldom appeared before Men and Elves and never in their original forms. They did not look exactly 'human', but they were very fair to look upon and some of them looked human enough.

One was of female shape, the other of male shape. The woman was very tall and clad in flowing silver, glittering like stars in the darkest velvet night, and she wore a crown of stars. Her hair was the shadows of night, but her skin was so white that she seemed to blend in with the light. She was Varda, queen of the stars. She was most loved by the Elves and was also renowned among Men. She had keen hearing, so that she could hear all the cries of the people. She gave aid to those that asked for it, and she was the spouse of Manwë, lord of the Valar. So great was her beauty, even in such a form, she was astonishing.

Beside her was Manwë himself. He was the chief Vala to Eru, the god of all. He was also tall, taller than any man, and he wore robes encrusted with sapphires of the deepest blue, mirroring the sky, and in his hand he held a silver and sapphire rod. But his form was like to Elbereth's: The form of light. His eyes were blue, and his hair was golden like the sun, but he was powerful and grim looking. Upon his head, he wore a king's crown. He had been Morgoth's brother, but now he did not claim kinship to him. Varda and Manwë stood together, the rulers of all the Valar. They were the king and queen of night and day and also of the skies. Their faces were majestic beyond description

Lúthien fell at their feet, and Varda touched her shoulder and said, "Stand, great heart." So she staggered up, but could not look into her eyes.

Two more shapes appeared, followed by all of the remaining order of the Valar. Soon, they all fourteen of them wreathed about Lúthien, speaking to each other in a soft and melodious tongue which was Quenya, the high-speech, all of them beautiful, but all appeared grim.

The next Valier and Vala that Lúthien recognized was Yavanna and her spouse, Aluë. Yavanna was Mother Earth. She was very tall, and was clothed in all the raiment of plants. Her skin was like smooth white bark. Moss and vines covered her body like a dress. Her eyes were green, and her hair was golden. From her fingers, leaves grew. Her own spouse, Aluë looked very much human. He was clothed in armor, and in one hand, he held a large and powerful hammer. He was the Vala of craft and metals, and he was also Vala of the Earth. He too had always been an enemy of Morgoth, even though the two were more alike than any others of the Valar. He had always desired to make creatures of his own to teach and love, so he had created the dwarves.

The next couple was Lórien and Estë. Both were clothed in gray robes, but their faces were hard to see. Lórien was golden haired, Estë's, brown. The color of their eyes could not be told. They would often change color altogether. Lórien was the Vala of sleep, and Estë was the Valier of dreams. She was the Valier of healing too. They were faint visions, as though they were fragments from a dream, and were surrounded by clouds.

Tulkas and Nessa were next. Tulkas held his sword in his hands. He was the Vala of battle, of course, and he himself had fought Morgoth and chained him up for three long ages. He wore golden armor. His hair was dark, and his eyes were also dark. Although he was the Vala of warfare, he was also a practical joker! He often laughed merrily and full-heatedly, but now he did not laugh and appeared grave. He pulled Nessa to him, and she was the sister of Oromë. She looked like an ordinary woman, but she wore the clothes of a hunter. A quiver of arrows was slung over her shoulder, and she held in one of her hands a bow. Her hair was a flaming red, and her eyes were blue. She was also the master of animals and Valier of dance.

Nessa's brother and his spouse appeared. Oromë came with his spear in one hand, and his great horn, Valaroma, in the other. The look in his eyes was even more grim than Manwë's. He was short-tempered and to see him angered was a terrible sight. With him was Yavanna's younger sister, also known as Vana, the Ever-young. She was clothed in flowers. She was very small and slender. She was beautiful, but could easily be mistaken for a child. She was golden haired like her sister, and her eyes also were green.

Standing beside Oromë, however, was a hound with fur like to a wolf's, but he was the enemy of all wolves. He was large in size and very noble looking for a beast, and Lúthien recognized him with one glance. It was Huan. He had become Oromë's most loyal and favorite hound. She let out a gasp of surprise to see him, and he too was greatly surprised. He cocked his head and whimpered.

Two more Valar appeared, but separately, for they both traveled alone. First was Ulmo, the lord of waters. He was the most loved of Men, because he aided them more than any others of his kin. He did not look human at all. He had scales as skin and had grown a beard, unlike the other Valar, and it was green with seaweed. His eyes were blue, but they were deep and fierce. He wore a dark helm that was foam-crested and wore silver mail. Second was Nienna, the mourner. She was not spouse to anyone. She was the Valier of mercy, love, and pity. Many also called her the Valier of wisdom.

A last pair of Valar appeared, and they were the most dreaded. For it was Mandos and his queen, Vairë. Her eyes glowed red. Her face was hidden behind a dark hood. She was the weaver of death, they said. She was most feared of the Valar, save Mandos, himself. He was the grimmest of his kin. He was the judge of the dead and he also prophesied the Doom of the Noldor and had condemned the living. He forgets nothing, and he is unyielding. He is unforgiving and harsh, and if it were not for Ilúvatar, the race of Men and Elves would have been extinguished. Lúthien wondered that he had not joined Morgoth because he looked so evil and seemed always to be angry. He too wore a black cloak. His eyes were as cold as ice. They were gray and pitiless, and he had raven-black hair. He narrowed his eyes upon Lúthien and watched every move she made like a hawk.

Huan, who had been staring at Lúthien with disbelief and amazement, trotted towards Manwë and began speaking, but she could not hear. Manwë and Varda listened intently to his spoken words. Lúthien wondered what he was saying. When Huan finished speaking, Manwë nodded and called for Mandos. Mandos spoke with a stern voice, and Lúthien caught her name in their conversation. Then Manwë stepped down and addressed Lúthien in her own tongue.

"We know you, daughter of Melian, and welcome you to our halls."

All of Valinor knew about the Quest for the Silmaril, for it touched them near. The making of the holy Silmarils had caused great war between the Valar and Morgoth, and also, Fëanor, whom the Valar had loved even when he rebelled against them, was slain for them.

"We expected that great matters would be called into question upon your death. But all souls must pass through Mandos. Otherwise you would have been brought before us the moment you breathed your last."

"And as I feared she has disturbed the souls waiting in our halls," Vairë said. "She challenged Mandos himself and brought them out of their trances! They shall have to be sent to Lórien to rid them of her words and put them into trance again. Their progress could be hindered by what they heard!"

Mandos snorted. "It makes no difference. Lúthien's very existence disturbs the fabric of order. Little more than an abomination in my records. Melian practically turned her back upon Valinor and her own nature coupling with an Elf. It seems her daughter seeks her mate even lower. Imagine the outcome of a child of that union! Three-fold race! None of you appreciate the precious time and careful considerations I must make in deciding the fate of a single soul without having to be bothered with these anomalies! Perhaps Eru's absence from Arda is truly for the better. What has ever come of the Divine mingling in earthly affairs? Grief!"

"My mother has done more good for the world than any of your efforts!" Lúthien lashed back. "For as long as you allow Morgoth to torment the world, you will have no choice but to mingle! He was once one of you! The Girdle of Melian has protected Doriath from him for ages, not you! You were the ones that loosed him upon us when you had the chance to keep him from this world forever. It seems that even the Divine can make mistakes. You cannot be immune to judgment yourselves!"

Mandos' eyes flashed. "Tread lightly, child of Thingol. For I do not consider you of the Ainur as others might, nor will I be swayed by your beauty as easily as Morgoth was. For I am just, not vengeful or merciful. So do not expect pity or preferential treatment, especially not from me! You should accept the natural order as it is. Let Beren go and await judgment for your part in the rash deeds of your lives!"

"Justice is all that I expect, and you are refusing it to me for the sake of convenience! Beren and I recaptured a Silmaril and cast Morgoth from his throne! And what of Sauron, Draugluin, Carchoroth, and the sorceress? All of them vanquished because of us."

"And you believe that there are no consequences for such actions, as good as you believe them to be? The Silmaril is in Thingol's hands now, and the Sons of Fëanor will not rest peacefully while he has it. Morgoth will want revenge, but he may also become more cautious and cunning than ever. Sauron wanders harmless for now, but do you naively believe that he will remain that way? He will doubtless return to breed more wolves. The sorceress was but a fly, she had no real power. And did not many noble people die for your foolish cause? Huan paid with his lifeblood in your damnable quest! And what of Finrod and his loyal men? And what of the wedge you placed between the Noldor and Sindar? The threat of open war was very real."

"Now is not the time to make attacks or hasty judgments," Varda stopped him. "Lúthien is not responsible for any of that."

"But she must be made to understand that she has a hand in it."

"Whatever you say, Beren and I managed something neither you nor all the armies of Men and Elves could do. And yet Beren paid his own lifeblood before we were scarcely wed. And here I am! We seem to have been punished enough. Now you tell me we are to be separated forever? Is there nothing but hateful punishments after death?"

"I simply cannot give you the answers you desire. It is my part only to judge you," Mandos said. "Every soul demands answers of me, as though the Valar are to blame for all of their little grievances and sins."

"I simply want to know this: Where is the son of Barahir, Beren Echermion the mortal man? Why do I not see him standing here?"

"That is not for you to know," Mandos answered curtly.

"So do you mean to say that when he died in my arms, that was the last of him? We shall never again see each other?"

Mandos nodded. Lúthien simply could not accept that. She began to weep.

"What if I refused to be judged? Even if I pass judgment, why would I want to go back to Middle-Earth or remain in the Blessed Realm?" she demanded.

Mandos was taken aback. No Man or Elf or other kin of earth had fallen before him and wept in such a way. Many did so once they had learned that they had not passed judgment and begged for mercy, but he was sure that Lúthien had never committed any unforgivable sin, despite all of his harsh words, nor had she spoken blasphemous words against Ilúvatar. Mandos was also puzzled and shocked when Lúthien asked the question she did, though he refused to show it.

"Refuse judgment! Refuse Valinor? Is there something more that you would desire?"

"I would not be happy even in the Blessed Realm without Beren, whom I love! she declared. "Losing him caused the darkness to fall upon me, and it eventually killed me. Is there no way that we can spend the rest of eternity together? You know that Beren and I suffered great loss and pain. Must we lose each other in such a way? You cannot give me my soul and then take away my heart!"

"Our granddaughter deserves better," Manwë and Varda declared.

There was astonishment at this. None were more surprised than Lúthien. She had never suspected that Manwë and Varda were her kin. Melian had always been very mysterious about her parentage. Lúthien had suspected Estë and Lórien because she claimed to have escaped from their gardens. At times she hinted she was the kin of Yavanna. And her father speculated that perhaps she was the daughter of Oromë and Vana since she was Yavanna's little sister and Oromë was always close to the Sindar. She had not confirmed any of these theories.

"Her lineage matters not," Mandos said dismissively. "Only her deeds."

"It is said that the soul of Beren refuses to pass on," Oromë said. "What is to be done about that? Not even you, Mandos, can will him to pass."

"He does indeed wander," Varda insisted. "I have heard his sorrowful voice and Manwë has seen his restless spirit wandering the Sundering Shore. The spirits of Man often wander for various reasons and at various times. But Beren has touched a Silmaril and is unlike other mortals. He is not half-mad as other ghosts are. He remembers everything and he should pass on whenever he desires it. But something physically holds him back."

"This is not the will of Eru," Manwë said. "I know his mind above all others, but in this matter it is shrouded from me."

Lúthien was filled with hope. Beren was wandering, as she and Melian had thought. That meant he was not yet gone forever, but neither would they be reunited. Unless she could do something…

"May I speak?"

"You must wait until I call upon you!" Mandos said.

"What of Beren?" she could not help herself. "What will become of him if he continues to wander? Why must he suffer it?"

"Men are not our concern after death," Mandos said and for the first time she heard uncertainty in his voice. "They are purely Eru's."

"Perhaps it is a sign from Eru," little Vana suggested.

"This matter cannot wait long," Estë said.

"You must at least let me say good-bye to him, then. Please. If we are never to see each other again for an eternity, then let us say our final farewells. Please."

"Such a thing cannot be done!"

"Mandos!" Ulmo spoke, and his voice was deep and terrifying. "We all know that Beren and Lúthien have rendered a greater service to us than any other creature of Middle-Earth. I would not deny them the right to say farewell."

"Lovers should not be separated at all," Nienna said. "Love is glory."

"There are other dead awaiting judgment!" Mandos snapped. "Must I make them wait upon this girl simply because she is being troublesome? Or because she is of our blood? Justice does not consider such things. Those that are waiting in my halls have suffered too. They have had sorrows. And yes, each are beautiful. Why should they have separate fates than this one?"

"But their beauty is not her beauty and her sorrow is greater than their sorrow!" argued Nienna. "For this has never happened before. An immortal has never fallen in love with a mortal. Those waiting out there do not suffer the terrifying thought that they might be sundered forever from those they love. What are we to do if it happens again? Men are quite young, after all. Do you think Lúthien and Beren will be the last troublesome case? You cannot write this off so hastily!"

All of the Valar began to argue until Manwë demanded silence. The Valar began to empty the room, some speaking encouraging words to Lúthien as they went. Only Mandos, Vairë and Varda and Manwë returned.

"I shall allow you to plead your case before me," Mandos told her. "But for now, you must wait until you are summoned. You may dwell in my halls until then reviewing your life and preparing your case. I promise you it shall not be long. I will allow you to join Beren's wandering spirit upon the Shores of the Sundering Sea. After that, I do not know. Perhaps he will pass on if he sees you and then nothing can be done. If he does not… I will think on it."

"Thank you," Lúthien bowed, very grateful for this small victory at least.

Mandos stared at her with no emotion in his eyes. He simply shook his head, called to Vairë, and they both disappeared in a flash of light. All of the other Valar followed after his example, except for Varda and Manwë. Lúthien stood alone with the two, who stared back at her. Then Varda held out her hand to her.

"Rise, child," she said. "There is no reason for you to be afraid. Enjoy your time in these halls, and may you look forward to life in the Blessed Realm!"

"Varda, I know it was you that convinced Mandos to let me plead my case. I have no way to thank you."

She smiled and said, "I have heard your voice crying for aid many times, and I had no choice but to help you in this at least, little one. I shall always listen to your prayers and Manwë shall always be watching you lovingly. Farewell, granddaughter."

Then, at the same instant, she and Manwë disappeared.

So Lúthien returned to the halls of Mandos. Lórien provided her a draught of the waters of his garden to send her into trance. Her life from birth to her death passed before her eyes, giving her clarity and understanding. When she was through pondering her life, Huan came to visit her. She hugged him in silence. He did not understand how Lúthien was going to convince Mandos to do what she asked. He knew Mandos. He had doomed the Noldor, and he had doomed Huan long before. It was true that Beren and Lúthien had brought hope and encouragement to all, but to ask Mandos of such a thing he thought was overmuch. No one had ever changed the Lord of Judgment's mind or caused sympathy in his heart, and no one would. Huan did not speak of this to Lúthien because she seemed so grieved already. She knew that to see Beren again would be an unspeakable privilege; nothing short of a miracle.

She left the halls of Mandos and waited by the Eastern Shores of the dead, watching for Beren. And at last, after waiting for what seemed like an age, Beren appeared. He ran to Lúthien as soon as he spotted her. They called out to each other and fell into each other's arms. They both cried with joy. Neither had expected to see the other ever again. They knew this may be the last time, but they wanted to enjoy the last few moments they had together.

"You told me to wait for you. I could not leave you even if I tried."

"I just wish we did not have to part at all," Lúthien said bitterly.

"Yes," Beren answered, his voice breaking, and when he spoke again, it did not sound like he believed it at all. "Perhaps we can pass away eternity with the memory of our love. It may not ease our pain, but it will help. I would never forget you, nor stop loving you."

"Perhaps," Lúthien agreed, but then she screamed and stamped her foot. "I will not stand for this! Why must we part? Why cannot we suffer the same fate? I remember telling you before: Wherever you go, I will follow you to the ends of the earth and beyond. Our dooms shall be alike."

Beren smiled weakly. "Yes, I remember that. I just hope that I shan't forget those words."

"We should have been allowed more time!" Lúthien cried. "We should have at least been able to enjoy a few years of wedlock."

"But we did prove our love was strong. Is it stronger than death, little bird?"

Lúthien was silent, and then she said, "I just do not want to lose you again."

The Sundering Shores was the realm between the realm of Valinor and beyond the Void. Walking along the shores were other souls of dead men and women, and Lúthien could hear them as they passed by, mumbling their stories. Some were aware of her, some were not. Some babbled frantically, others spoke slowly and clearly. She listened to them and came to understand their sorrows. She thought of the men of Brethil. They were Children of Ilúvatar, as were the Eldar, and yet their fates were so different. Most of the Valar ignored the Second-Born. They had no voice within Valinor. Lúthien began to feel that this was wrong. And she knew that if she pleaded her own case and not for all of those men and women wandering upon the shore and the elves and maidens waiting in the Halls of Mandos, she would be selfish. She and Beren represented the merging of the two races. Mandos would not be moved by one person's suffering. But he could not ignore a symphony.

Lúthien was summoned to the Great Hall of Mandos, where he was sitting on his throne. Vairë was sitting beside him.

"The spirit of Beren has still not passed on as I hoped. That means you are granted an audience. I have given you the chance to move me, so move me," he commanded.

"O Mandos, lord of the dead and Vala of prophecy," Lúthien began. "Little love have you from my people because they have come to know that you are the great judge of our deeds. If you have any mercy or pity, or ears to hear, I beg that you listen to my words."

"I have ears, and I also have good judgment," Mandos answered, glaring at Lúthien. "Therefore, speak!"

"You know that Beren and I were- I must say are in love. We met in the woods of Doriath only two years or so ago, but it seems like ages. We have made many sacrifices for one another, and in the end, Beren made the greater sacrifice, but we never did wed or have the chance to bring forth children of our own. That was because my Father had always thought it forbidden for Man and Elf to wed..."

And so Lúthien told the complete tale of the Quest for the Silmaril. Mandos listened well, but there was not a flicker of emotion in his eyes. Lúthien was discouraged, and she grew silent once she had told the story. Still, Mandos only shook his head and told her that he could not and would not allow Beren to cross the Western Shores of the Dead.

"Is that all you have to say, Lúthien?" he demanded.

"No," Lúthien cried. "No! I also have devised a song to plead for my case. You have heard my tale, but you do not know yet why Beren and I must not be sundered forever. You do not know what it is to feel the sorrow or grief of Men and Elves. Before you deny me to see Beren ever again, listen to my song, and please try to learn what mercy is."

Then Lúthien sang the song she had prepared. When she sang, she began singing verses and singing things she had not thought of before. The words and thoughts poured out of her soul. Vairë had long since shed tears, and soon, even Mandos began to show pity in his eyes. Lúthien fell to Mandos' feet. Tears fell like rain upon his throne, and her voice was unaffected. She sang out strongly and clearly so that the dead in the Halls of Mandos could hear and were comforted and some became aware for the first time of the plight of Men and of how their fate could be interwoven with theirs. So beautiful and moving was Lúthien's song that the Valar still sing it to this day and remember her and Beren though it was never put into writing.

Mandos bowed his head, and miraculously, and for the first time, a single tear fell from his eye and joined the tears upon the floor made by Lúthien. He was as surprised as Vairë was. He was so astonished that he put his fingers to his cheek where it was still warm and moist from his tear. It was a new and strange thing to him, and he was moved to mercy.

Neither Mandos, nor Lúthien spoke for a great while. Vairë left the hall, and Lúthien lay with her head buried in her hands, weeping softly. She had not seen the tear that Mandos had shed, and she was sure that Mandos was going to send her to the Blessed Realm, and she would never see Beren again.

Mandos announced, "Lúthien, I promise to do everything in my power to keep your souls together. But I must find a way."

"He what!" Beren blurted out when Lúthien told him what had happened.

Beren was so surprised and filled with wonder that he only stared, open-mouthed, at Lúthien, who was singing and laughing as she had done so long ago. They did not even notice that Mandos was watching them closely. Lúthien had changed him. He now watched them and began to regret that they were two different kindreds. He wished the two could be together, but Men were destined to join Ilúvatar while Elves were bound to Middle-Earth.

Mandos knew now that Ilúvatar had planned something different for these two lovers. He appeared before Varda and Manwë, who were not at all surprised to see him.

"Having second thoughts, Mandos?" Manwë asked, laughing softly.

Mandos did not laugh. "Please," he said. "I did not come here without reason. You know I came here to ask what to do about Lúthien and Beren. Shall we deny them of their love?"

"Shall we, Mandos?" Varda looked at him.

"I had granted the request that they could say their last farewells. I had not planned to grant any other such thing, but now, I feel that it is the will of Eru that these two should still be among the living and wedded."

"You have come for Manwë's counsel. The only counsel he or I can give you is to wait for Eru's answer."

"If you would consult our Lord, Eru, about this, I would owe you a tremendous debt, Manwë," Mandos told him. "Lúthien moved me so deeply, I shed tears. Never has any Man or Elf done so, and I do not expect any one else to do so again. Lúthien's sorrows and beauty are greater than any other Elf I have judged, and Beren is likewise. I must know if there is truly no way for these two to be together."

And so Manwë and Varda waited for the revelation. Mandos called Lúthien and Beren to him the next day. All of the Valar was there. Huan was at Oromë's side, his head bowed. Beren was prepared to board the ship that would take him to the lands beyond the Sundering Sea, but Mandos suddenly stopped him.

"It is not yet certain whether you have to return home yet, Beren," he told him, smiling. "It is up to Lúthien to decide that."

"What do you mean?" Lúthien and Beren both asked in unison.

"It means that you, Lúthien, have been given two paths to choose. The first: You may live in Valinor and dwell among the Ainur and Eldar. You shall drink from the waters of forgetfulness and forget forever all that you once knew. You shall dwell there until your griefs have been amended, and then you shall be reborn upon the earth so that the Eldar may have their Morning Star again."

"Meaning, I would forget my family? My Mother and Father? My youth? Daeron? Huan? Will I forget about all that Beren and I achieved in life? I shall forget our love?"

"The very same. You shall live a new life. You would no longer remember the trauma, the pain, the suffering. Beren also shall be given a draught of the waters and sent home at last."

"So we shall forget we ever knew each other? We shall forget even each other's names? We will not even have one memory of our love on the edges of our minds?"

"No, but if you were to both forget, you would become both happy and innocent again."

Beren and Lúthien exchanged glances, and then Lúthien asked, "What is the second choice?"

"The second choice may be less pleasant. I cannot guarantee that you shall ever be happy again. If you decide to choose this path, it will be you, Lúthien that must sacrifice much. I would mercifully set free both yours and Beren's souls back to Middle-Earth, back into your bodies. Back to your old lives. Then you shall live together, become husband and wife, perhaps bear and raise children. But mind you! In doing so, you, Lúthien, must give up your immortality. You shall become a Woman of Beren's kin and you shall be given a second life. You will live out your days as mortal man and woman. In this way, you would face the Doom of Men: Death."

Lúthien and Beren exchanged glances again.

"Will we both die together?" Beren asked. "In that way, neither of us will suffer to wait for death to claim us and deliver us to the deceased?"

"I cannot guarantee you will die at the same time."

"And we shall both be together after we come back here? We would be allowed to spend eternity together?" Lúthien concluded.

Mandos nodded. "You shall both go beyond the Sundering Sea where all Men go. Now, Lúthien, which do you choose?"

"What?"

"It is your decision. Will you choose immortality, or love?"

Lúthien hesitated. The Blessed Realm was home of the Valar and a physical paradise. It was the most heavenly place in all the universe, save being in the presence of Ilúvatar himself. There, no harm could come to you. All the days in Valinor were joyous and peaceful. But she would forget everything she once knew. It seemed a great price for such bliss. Lúthien remembered the days when Beren and Lúthien were still meeting together in secret in Doriath. She could never be so happy in the Blessed Realm with no memory or past, but to receive the chain of mortality! To fall ill and die like all other Men and never be seen by her people again; this too seemed like a great price to pay. Lúthien was torn between her people, her family, life as she had always known it, and her love for Beren. She turned her back to all of the Valar and to Beren and watched the shores of the Eastern Sea. Beren might set sail on that ship, and she may never see him or remember him again if she willed it.

"I choose," she announced slowly and gravely. "I choose the Doom of Men."

"This is your last chance, daughter of Melian," Mandos warned her. "The Doom of Men cannot be taken away once it is given."

"I have already accepted the gift."

"And being immortal, you would share in his mortality?"

"Yes."

"And being free, you would receive his chain?"

"Yes. Yes!"

"That is your choice. Now you must live with it."

Lúthien and Beren joined hands. Huan let out a howl, the Valar cheered, and they both suddenly fell into darkness. Lúthien awoke. She found herself alive in her own body within the tomb that they had been buried in.

"Tinúviel?" Beren stood beside her. "You did not have to give up your immortality to bring me back."

"Of course I did. You died for me. So now we have settled the scores. You have made a sacrifice, and I have made a sacrifice. Now we shall go home."

"Do you know what Huan's last words were to me before he died, Lúthien?"

"No. No one had told me he even spoke for a third time. What did he say?"

"He had said something akin to a riddle. He told me that he would see me again, and that you and I would meet and return to the earth. Now I understand what that riddle meant."

He lifted Lúthien to her feet, and that was when she noticed that he had two hands once more. She laughed, and then Beren set her down, and kissed her. That was when Lúthien saw a bird sitting upon a branch of a tree. It was a large crow, and he had a tuft of white feathers upon his breast. He cawed at Beren, and he smiled and he stepped out of the tomb to greet it.

"Gorlim," he said. "It is wonderful to see you again. I did not see you wandering the Sundering Shore"

The bird transformed, and Gorlim stood smiling before him, and he wore no longer the dull gray robes but robes whiter than mortal color.

"I was here looking after your body knowing you would return. It is good that you no longer need me, for your darkness has passed. You have what you desired, and you have fulfilled the Quest. I am prepared to pass on now."

"So this is farewell, eh?"

"Yes. Farewell at last."

"Farewell, Gorlim. Though I cannot reveal what lies beyond death still, I wish you all the happiness of the world."

Gorlim vanished. There was a howl of what sounded like a wolf. The couple spun around to see Huan the Wolf-Hound, also restored to life. Beren and Lúthien cried out with joy, and Huan's joyful barks sounded throughout the hills. A Maia stood beside him, a messenger of Mandos.

"For his part in the Quest, Huan was also allowed a reward," he explained to them. "Though Oromë offered to make him chief of his hounds, he admitted that he did not wish to be parted from you two. Although he can never again speak with words, he shall be allowed to share your fate. Does this please you?"

"More than you know," they replied. "Huan is the truest friend that we shall ever have."

"So be it! I also have a message for you, Lúthien from Mandos. You may love Beren, but your love may yet be tested, and although Ilúvatar has given you this chance, he cannot protect you from danger or grief. Life may be bitter still and if you bear children they shall be faced with their own difficult choices. This cannot be prevented."

"Yes," she replied. "What is life without pain? Now I must go to my family and find the strength to say goodbye to them."

Thingol was sitting upon his throne, alone. He looked thin and tired. He had not eaten or slept since Lúthien and Beren's death. It did not seem as though he could see out of his eyes. He knew that if he grieved like this much longer, he would soon follow his daughter. Nonetheless, his grief was unbearable. Melian feared for him and could think of nothing to bring him out of his stupor, and she had not the strength to try. She was devastated as much as he, though she concealed it as well as she could for her people. It was much easier to slip into depression, as had her husband.

She approached him with caution. She came to speak of the dead lovers' tomb, a light subject that could drive the king to his brink. She used the voice of the Consort, for an intimate tone would surely break his fragile defenses.

"Gray-Cloak, the people are speaking of sealing the tomb. I believe it is time. The place is sacred and should not be disturbed. I am sure that those that reside in it would want it that way."

She waited for his response, and there was none. Thingol did not bat an eye-lid. The lack of reaction worried her all the more. Lúthien had become thus before she died, apathetic and utterly unaware of her environment. She almost cried out then in despair and frustration. Was she to lose her entire family all at once? Could she do nothing about it? Without them, what would become of her? But she contained herself with all the self-will and poise of a Maia and turned her back to him.

"Very well. I shall see that it is done."

And then Thingol laughed grimly, chilling her, and he answered at last, "Why do you play coy with me now of all times? Why will you not open up to me with your own pain? You think yourself so much stronger, and perhaps you are so, but that only means that you are facing your problem the hard way. Our daughter... and that... Men… are dead, and you still refuse to grieve? Wife... My love."

And it was Melian whose defenses broke down. She wept like a child, and Thingol rose from his seat and gave her a joyless kiss.

"If it is politics you want, my Queen, then it is politics we shall have today. Even if it does concern our daughter's corpse."

They came to visit the tomb and found it empty.

Alarmed, Thingol called for his guards, and that was when he felt a hand upon his. He turned and saw his daughter standing before him and beside her was Beren.

They were alive, and yet they were not the same people they had been before being shut away inside the tomb. A light shone through them, and indeed Lúthien's beauty had been enriched by her sorrows. She was even fairer than she had been before she had died. Beren's presence had grown taller, and a light was in his face as well, a light that had never been there while he was but a living man.

King Thingol saw them and was aroused from his winter. He saw his daughter, standing before him, alive!

"What is this?" he cried. "Some new devilry? Or is this truly my daughter come back to life?"

"It is I, Father," she answered. "Grieve no more. The Valar have granted us a miracle."

He embraced her and kissed her. Then Lúthien and Beren told their tale, as much as they could. For no one can know too much about the realm beyond. Thingol sat down, dumbfounded and overjoyed and full of wonder at their tale. It was when Lúthien told her mother and father her choice and what it meant that they became silent again. Melian stared at her daughter with horror and she walked away into the forest. She forever bore the grief of the second loss of her daughter.

Thingol was no less grieved, but he knew that his daughter's fate was not his own to decide. Mandos himself had declared otherwise.

"You are alive now," he said to them. "And you are happy together. Now you will have your wish to be together forever even beyond death. Lúthien is happy with you, Beren. How can I find fault in that? Even though it means I will probably lose her again, I can take some small comfort knowing she is with you. With you she is happy. It is with you that she belongs."

And at last, upon the hill of Esgalduin where the two had first met and fell in love, they were wedded.

Their wedding began at noon in the sunshine. Most of the Sindar left their caves in Menegroth to witness the union. Their mind-set of Beren had changed entirely. The story of the Quest for the Silmaril was already becoming a legend among them. Beren was thankful for his new status. He hoped the Sindar would view the rest of his kin in such a positive light.

When the two were wed, they shouted out, "Behold Lúthien Tinúviel and Beren Echermion! They cast Morgoth from his throne in a moment of triumph for both Men and Elves and are now the Dead that Live."

Beren and Lúthien said their vows, and they were both very happy. They had done nothing but stare into each other's eyes during the ceremony and clasped hands during the feast that followed, neither of them desiring food. After the ceremony, there was celebration. The minstrels of Doriath began to play and the children ran about playing while their parents danced and drank. But there was little joy and mirth to be seen after the wedding for Lúthien and Beren. Though the people did not know it yet, they had just lost their beloved princess and their mortal prince that they had adopted into their hearts. Before the night was over, Lúthien must say her final farewells to her mother and father, to the Sindar, to the Eldar, and to Doriath.

Beren wished to postpone his wife's sorrow for as long as possible and encouraged her to remain in Doriath as long as she liked, but they had already agreed that lingering would be unwise. Lúthien could not remain because she no longer belonged. As soon as they could, they must leave. The Sindar insisted to see the couple dance. Now was the chance for the maids to say they had danced with a mortal for the first time, and even the youngest boys dreamed of a dance with Lúthien. Beren joined the wardens for a game of archery as Lúthien sang. But as the day waned and the moon waxed, they began to clear the hill and return to Menegroth, expecting several days of festivities on account of the wedding. The Sindar had long holidays after all, and weddings were no different.

Beren led her away from the merriment so that they were alone beyond the hill. There they stood for a moment, contemplating all that had passed before here. Never had Beren thought even in wild fantasy that they would come this far while it had been Lúthien's deepest hope, frail though it had been. Now they might never return to the hill again.

"The king and queen are waiting for me on the other side. I must say my farewells," Lúthien said. "Please, Beren. I must be alone with them."

"Take as long as you need."

She bowed before the king and queen, "My lord and lady. Father, Mother. It is time. Beren and I must leave."

Thingol lifted her to her feet, and the king and queen embraced her.

"I know what you are thinking," Lúthien said with tears in her eyes. "Why could I not have married an Elvin-lord like Mablung or a king like Finrod?"

Thingol laughed, and then he dried her eyes.

"If Daeron ever comes back, tell him that I love him and have forgiven him a thousand times over."

"Do not weep. Now is a moment to treasure not to mourn for."

"Hypocrite! You are weeping too!"

Thingol nodded and then Melian embraced Lúthien again, but it would be the last time. Lúthien clung to her like a desperate little child. She was no longer frightened of leaving, but she wished to savor every last moment. Thingol turned to Beren and they both disappeared together beyond the hills as the mother and daughter said their bitter farewells.

"I remember you waking in the dark and calling for me when you were a child. For thousands of years you were only mine and Elwë's. You have not been a child for a long time. I suppose it was inevitable that this day would come," Melian said. "Perhaps those of us in Doriath have been selfish keeping you from the world. A mortal death will allow you to be free of it."

"I do not wish to be free of you, but it must be. Beren and I may never see you again."

Melian's smile faded and she stroked her daughter's fine dark hair.

"I know. I knew you would marry, and a girl weds and becomes one flesh with her husband. You are mortal, and so much has happened here, some things that are best forgotten. I cannot ask you to remain. Your father and I loved you and raised you well, and you shall have fond memories. Keep those in your heart. I do not believe you shall be severed from us forever, despite what we know of mortal death: Nothing. Drive such thoughts from your mind."

Lúthien could only nod. She felt if she held back tears any longer she would drown within them.

"I thought you did not regret your choice."

"I do not. I only wish that I could be sure that we will meet again. Consolation is all I ask for."

"The Valar could not give you that?"

"No. None. They do not know what becomes of mortals after death, and Beren will not speak of it, or not yet. He passed beyond the Sundering Seas briefly and said his spirit was sent back. Perhaps he does not remember, or he cannot describe it, or he feels I have never asked him to explain."

"Life belongs to those that have it. You have enough to worry about without thinking of such things."

Lúthien saw, to her great surprise, that her mother was very distressed, tears in her eyes. She embraced her again and began to whisper a prophesy into her ear.

"You shall bear a son soon, Lúthien. You must tell him who he is and what he is, and tell him that there is a kingdom waiting for him. Your descendants shall be the forerunners of history and your line shall never fail. Never regret your choice, Lúthien. Now go with Beren, and remember your mother, Melian the Maia, and do not forget your ancient home."

"Never, Mother."

"Farewell, Lúthien."

Then the queen turned her face away, and Thingol was speaking to Beren on the other side of the hill. He never loved Beren and only now had relented. Beren was most uncomfortable. Thingol had sent him to his death after all. A grave look was upon his face.

"She is waiting for you, Echermion," he said. "She sacrificed much to be with you, you know. I hope you realize that because I did everything in my power since the day she was born to protect her and her life's grace. Then you came along and shattered it."

He said this without being harsh, and Beren knew that every word of what he said was true.

"She is yours now," Thingol continued solemnly. "You are hers. Despite all my attempts, I could not defy your love."

"You almost destroyed us, your majesty," Beren answered. "It was a sore test. It is plain that you used all your efforts. You are a loving father to my Tinúviel, as I said before."

"And you are now my son. Your true father would no doubt be humbled by your deeds, and he too was a great man. I have grown wiser because of you, and no longer shall Men be called weak or thrall or thief, as I named you once without justice. I ask for your pardon."

This staggered Beren. Then Thingol held out his hand, and in it was the Silmaril. Beren looked at it in wonder.

"You cut it from the Iron Crown. It is yours by bloody right. I tried to give it to Lúthien when you died. I grieved for you, which surprised me then, and she was faining. She cast it away from her and would never take it, much less look at it."

"And she was wise to do so. This was the bride price, and I do not ever want to see that cursed thing again! You keep it. Lock it away within a mansion of stone and do not touch it! It is not our blood alone that is upon it! Many others died trying to reclaim it. Do not forget Finrod the beloved! Put it away!"

Thingol hid away the Silmaril and caught Beren's eyes and smiled.

"You may go to her soon. I must have a moment."

Beren gave the king a low bow. Thingol went to Lúthien and took his daughter's hand.

"One last dance before we part, beloved."

"Of course, Ada."

Lúthien remembered how he had to lift her in his arms when she was a child because she was so small, and he was such a giant.

When the dance ended, Thingol said, "It is a pity that I shall never see my grandson."

Nothing else he may have said could have caused her more sorrow, but she bit back the tears and answered, "Tell our people that I am now Tinúviel, Lady of the Edain, wife to Beren Camlost, for now I must leave the name of Lúthien behind me and become a Woman. Even now, I am changing, Father."

Thingol cupped her face in his hands and studied her ears, and he saw they were no longer pointed. Then he wept bitterly, and then he kissed Lúthien for the last time.

"By Ilúvatar, I love you," he said, "and may we see each other again beyond this world! And may you be with Beren forever! I bear him no ill will!"

Then Thingol, with great pain, gave Beren and Lúthien Iavas and supplies, and they left Doriath and never again returned save in another tale.

Thingol went to his wife.

"I almost wish Lúthien and Beren had remained dead. This estrangement from her, the uncertainty that we may never cross paths again in this life or the next haunts me. I cannot bear it."

Afterwards, few ever spoke of Lúthien again in Thingol's presence, for it caused him great pain. He lost whom he had most loved, and Melian suffered of that same grief. She suffered great anguish, greater anguish than the Maiar has ever known.

Lúthien and Beren left Doriath, fearing no danger or hunger, for they had suffered enough of such during the Quest, and Huan went with them. They traveled eastward, wishing to avoid both Elves and Men for a time. In their wandering they came upon Ossiriand the land of Seven Rivers. They built a house for themselves in the Green Isle or Tol Galen which was inhabited only by a small number of Laquendi that came to revere Tinúviel and Echermion. For the most part the land was obscured and it seemed that spring and summer never faded there. Because they dwelt there, the land was often called The Land of the Dead that Live, and it became one of the last realms of Beleriand and survived even until the Fourth Age and perhaps longer.

The tale of Beren and Lúthien quickly spread to the other Elvin nations and sparked hope within the Eldar again, although the story was not complete. Very few knew the whole story of their quest, and over the years that followed, it became wholly untrue. Lúthien's name was forgotten, and she was known only as Tinúviel, a fairy princess. Beren was no more than a common man that stumbled upon the realm of Faerie and became her mortal lover. The fairy king was angered and bade him bring the crown of the Dark Lord from Hell. Tinúviel followed him and was befriended by a talking dog and brought Beren back from the dead thrice. In the tale, Beren and Tinúviel still lived in the immortal land of Faerie, though both had paid the ultimate price for their love and suffered mortal doom.

The true story, however, was told among their descendants. After the Quest for the Silmaril, they lived together happily in the quiet woodlands in Ossiriand as Lord and Lady of the Laquendi. They raised a son named Dior Aranel together of three fold race: Maiar, Eldar, and Man. He was allowed the choice to live among the Elves or Man, and he chose the Elves, for Thingol needed an heir. Beren and Lúthien died together, though their bodies were never found. As for the Silmaril, it was passed to her son and then to his daughter Elwing. She and her husband Eärendil sailed away to Valinor with the Silmaril upon his breast. It passed away from this world like Lúthien and Beren.

Mandos had warned Lúthien that he could not promise them full happiness, yet she left several words with her son before she fled into the forests, knowing the hour of mortal death would soon come upon her. Lúthien Tinúviel was the first among the kin of the Eldar to die, but she died willingly and never once regretted her choice, and her line shall never fail.


End file.
